


the road not taken

by long_live_larrystylinson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Clinical Depression, Depression, F/M, I promise, Jackson Never Left, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Parallel Universes, This fic can get really angsty so be warned, Time Loop, allison is alive, angst everywhere, i loved allison so much she just has to be alive, ikr queen lydia is never an underdog, lydia is an underdog, she is tho, there are two parrallel universes, there are two stiles, things might get confusing in the start but i swear it will make sense in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/long_live_larrystylinson/pseuds/long_live_larrystylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Parallel Worlds, AU]</p><p>Stiles wakes up in a different universe, where he's not part of anyone's pack and Derek is not his. Nothing makes sense.</p><p>In which Stiles finds himself in a place where everything is not the way it should be, or the way he think it was. Can things return back to normal? Or is he stuck in this strange land for good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> This diverges from canon since season 1, I guess, but still makes use of canon points until season 4. (This is fanfiction anyway, so no offense, Jeff)
> 
> No warnings just yet. Not beta-ed, so probably there are mistakes here and there. Bear with me, please.

The first thing that pops into my mind the moment I wake up is that _this isn’t my room_ and _I would not buy that wallpaper_. A few minutes later, however, while still in morning daze, I realize this was my room, but not. My favorite wall posters and Aqualung CDs were not plastered at ­­ the opposite side of the wall, and the board where I track Beacon Hill’s mysteries with my tri-colored strings is also gone.

I jumble awake upon the realization, taking a quick scan of my room and inhaling the variations. This is definitely my room, with minuscule changes. Like, a lot of it. Did dad redesigned my room, overnight, without my notice?

Confusion strikes my head, and it hurts just trying to think so I tried not to. It’s early, anyway.  

The only sound that can be heard as I walk towards the kitchen is my own wary footsteps. The clock says Dad should be getting ready to go to the station by now yet the house remain silent, as if on mute.

“Dad?” I call out.

My heart starts pounding, as if it knows something I don’t. And then something in my mind flickers. _Something_. But it’s gone before I even have the time to process it. Then, I hear Dad’s heavy footsteps descending the stairs. I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“I was expecting breakfast, Dad,” I smile up at him but he simply stare back blankly, as if he doesn’t expect me to be there. His looks changed too; his creases more evident, brow furrowed tiredly, and eyes suggesting he hasn’t been sleeping well.   

“Dad?”

He smiles, sadly, almost apologetically. And then he’s gone, going for the door without uttering a word.

My confusion spikes even further, and I can’t help the feeling of unease building in my stomach. Suddenly everything feels wrong, and at the same time, right. It’s like I’m here but I’m not supposed to be here, and yet there’s nowhere else to be.

o0o

“Dude, life and everyone and everything in it is being extraordinarily weird since this morning. That’s coming from me, as if I haven’t seen enough weird in this lifetime. But this is borderline weird, Scott,” I start as soon as I put down my tray at the table where I spotted my best friend.

“Why are we sitting here?” We stopped sitting here after first year, after Allison’s death.

“Anyway, so, I woke up this morning and my room have changed. Like, tiny traces of my personality that is supposed to be reflected in my room is gone. My house looks and feels like it has been renovated by an old widower. And the board is gone too, months of hard work gone missing. Probably Dad took it away so I have to talk to him,” I try not to remember the way dad looked this morning.

I was starting to unwrap the cheap sandwich I bought when I notice Scott hasn’t moved in his seat all.

“Stiles…Stiles, right?” He finally says, oddly confident except for the repetition of my name.

“No, dude. I’m Scott, you’re Stiles,” I try my best to glare as I take a large bite of my sandwich.

“Uhm, why…why are you sitting here?”

The question startles me, so I try taking it as just another weird thing to add on top of this ever growing day’s weird list. “Because you’re sitting here?” Suddenly, I feel unsure.

Scott’s face is as confused as he probably is. People are also starting to stare at us. Scott makes a face, the one he often use when he knows he’s going to offend but he’s still avoiding not to, “We don’t sit together, dude. I don’t, I don’t even know you. At least…not anymore.”

His words hasn’t even started sinking in yet when someone sits beside him. Someone who’s definitely not supposed to be there that it sends me scrambling away from the table, my half-eaten sandwich flying away somewhere I can’t care about right now.

“ALLISON?!”

Allison Argent. She’s alive and healthy and she’s sitting beside Scott. She has the confused look on her face that I’m sure is the same with me, Scott, and apparently everyone around us.

The last time I saw her was at her funeral, with all the flowers and snow and the feeling of extreme loss. She became an unfillable hole in our hearts, the loss of a dear friend and a pack member. I can’t even imagine the pain Scott, Isaac, and Chris went through. 

“You were dead!” I tremble at the sight of her, looking back at me like I’ve punched her in the gut. “Scott can you see her?”

“That’s not funny man,” Scott says, wrapping a protective arm around Allison. She leans on him and whispers “It’s okay” and looks at me almost apologetically.

“Who is he?” she asks him.

My heart feels like it’s about to explode. 

I stared at them for a full minute, flashbacks of their freshman year and how inseparable they were coming back to me like a romantic montage. It squeezes my heart, a feeling of sick nostalgia building at my chest. This has to be a dream. A very real dream.

I look around. Everyone is looking at us, their whispers audible even without werewolf ears. “Isn’t that the Sheriff’s son?” “He’s lost it, finally” “He hasn’t talked to anyone since like, forever, and then he’s creating a scene like this.” “He’s better off at the Eichen House.”

I feel nauseous, the panic making bile rise up to my throat. “What’s happening?” I try to ask, “Scott?”

I want to ask him to count fingers with me, like we did when my mind was being played by the Nugitsune, just so I could prove to myself that this is just another bizarre realistic dream. I feel my breathing hitching faster and faster and my thoughts dizzy, everything around me spiraling uncontrollably. I trip over something and fall onto the floor, my mind a hazy blur until I feel Scott beside me. Felt him, didn’t even have to understand what his muffled voice is saying and “Stiles? Stiles?” because I know my best friend like I know myself.

I thank the heavens when darkness floods my mind.

o0o

When consciousness starts draping over me languidly, I didn’t open my eyes. I fear of still being in that dream. Something like this has happened before, just after Scott, Allison and I went into a super-consciousness inside the Nemeton. But nothing today felt like it was a dream. What if this is reality? What if Allison is alive? What if Scott doesn’t recognize…or know me? And what if I’m not part of his pack?

“I don’t know. He just went straight to my table after ordering his meal and started talking casually as if we do that every day. I was waiting for you and the pack.”

“He was acting like...like he knew us. Do you think he’s really lost it? Years of keeping all by himself and…I mean I’m not judging or anything but what he did in the cafe was really weird.”

“I know. That was the first time I saw him talk to anyone after…after what happened to his family.”

“But why would he talk to you of all the people in the cafeteria?”

“I don’t know. Probably just random. I’m not saying he’s gone crazy. After all…we were actually playmates when we were kids. I remember things a little, but he stopped coming over our house when we were nine. After his mother’s death. I still saw him at school but…he doesn’t really talk to anyone anymore. Even me.”

“That was ages ago. But it makes sense a bit. Still, weird.”

“That’s what he said. Everything was weird when he woke up.”

I try to process everything I heard, forcing myself to overcome the nausea and dizziness that is once again threatening to topple my consciousness. I need to think, need to make sense of things because everything I just heard was not the way I remembered it, the way things really happened.

Scott and I were playmates, yes, and then we were childhood friends. And in high school we were best friends. The rest was history, as they say.

Allison died at the time when I was possessed by the Kitsune.

Claudia, my mom, died after giving birth to me. Not when I was nine years old. What the hell is happening?

I can feel myself having difficulty breathing again, but I still try to suppress another panic attack. I cannot keep on having panic attacks all the time or else I won’t be going anywhere.

I wait for a few minutes and then open my eyes, finding myself lying at one of the beds of the school clinic. Scott and Allison were sitting across the room, her head resting against Scott’s shoulder. I shudder at the sight of her, her cheeks rosy and hair flowing long like it was when we were first years.

“Scott?” I call.

The two disentangle themselves from each other and walks towards me. I help myself into a sitting position, the bed creaking along with my moving weight.

“How are you feeling?” Allison asks. I stare at her again, probably for a full minute before answering.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I mutter, then “Can I talk to Scott for a few sec?”

She turns her head to Scott and Scott mirrors her. He smiles at her, and they’re communicating again with their eyes. She smiles at me politely before leaving the room, and I missed her. This is the only good thing in all this nobody-knows-me craziness; Allison is well and alive.

“Stiles?”

“Do you really not know me?” I manage to ask, voice low and not meeting his eyes.  

I can feel him staring at me for a minute before he answered, “I do, Stiles,” he says, and my heart almost leapt, “We’ve been in the same school and the same neighborhood since we were kids. That’s all.”

“And we’re best friends,” I say with conviction, knowing he can follow my heartbeat and know I’m not lying.

“We…we’re…not friends. Not anymore. You distanced yourself from everyone after your mom died~”

“My mom died while giving birth to me!” I snap, turning my head to see his face.

Scott’s look is calculating. If he wasn’t a werewolf and he has no idea about the supernatural and weird shit constantly happening in Beacon Hills, he would’ve left me at the cafeteria. Aside from the fact that I know he’s the closest to a pure heart in this world, and that he’s my friend, that was another reason why I’m choosing to talk to him, because he knows something’s not right with me, and it’s not because I’m bat shit crazy.

“No, Stiles. She died when we were nine.”

I look at him levelly, “How, then?”

“Do you really not remember?”

“Scott, I swear,” I sound desperate even in my own ears. “Nothing’s making sense. This, this is all crazy. This is not the way things are.”

Scott looks at me for another moment before he speaks, taking a deep breath. “I told no one about this. And I’m sorry that I have to repeat this to you, but if it helps…My mom said she and Claudia were talking after they’ve finished their graveyard shift at the hospital, and she was saying something about planning to stop at the gasoline station because you asked her to buy milk. She stopped at the gasoline station to buy your milk, and gas, probably, and then she disappeared. A week later her body was found…” he hesitate, and I almost asked him to stop because I think I know where he’s heading, “…throat slashed and tied at a tree in the preserve.”

I fight back another nausea. That was even worse than knowing she died while giving birth to me. Originally I was blaming myself for her death because if I wasn’t born she would’ve been alive and Dad wouldn’t have started drinking and being so lonely.

This story though, is even worse than that. She died while fulfilling one of my childish whims. This time, it’s really my fault. Except it’s not, because this isn’t real.

No, this isn’t my reality.

“Scott you have to help me. Everything’s not right. I don’t,” panic stars building in my chest again and Scott tries to reach out with a hand, but hesitates at the last moment.

“Stiles, calm down. Breathe. Everything will be alright, okay?” And upon hearing that, a tear fell. He sounded like my best friend, exactly the way he would each time I would have a panic attack when we were kids, even when we were grown up.

“Tell me what’s wrong Stiles, and I will try to help.”

“What’s wrong?! This place. I don’t belong here. We’re supposed to be best friends, and Allison’s dead and my mom didn’t die because I fucking wanted milk. Nothing in this makes sense,” I can feel tears running down my cheeks.

“Dude stop saying Allison’s dead she~”

“And you’re a werewolf!” I snap, trying to tap a sensible cord where I could reach him and he’ll know I’m not just being crazy.   

At that he freezes, his eyes widening with surprise. “W-what?”

“Don’t lie Scott,”

“H-how did you know?”

“Because I was there when Peter bit you. We were in the woods, searching for Laura’s body. We had no idea we were searching for an Alpha wolf’s dissected body. We had no idea about anything,”

He steps back.

“How did you know about Laura’s death? I was not, I was not bitten at the woods. I was bitten at school. My teammates left, and Peter was there when I went out.”

I shake my head, but then after a minute it makes sense, because if in this world we were not friends, why would I invite him to search for a body in the woods? If we really stopped being friends at nine, it changes everything.

Everything.

“Stiles how did you know about werewolves?”

“I told you! I’m your best friend. In another world, at least. And things happened that don’t make sense here. We’re supposed to be together, because my life revolved around that, around following you and being by your side and your werewolf escapades. I’m part of your pack. And if that’s not what happened here, what happened to me? Scott if I’m not by your side, where would I be?”

I grip at my hair despite the headache that I’m starting to feel because of all this information. I don’t know how to process all of this.

“You’ve been keeping by yourself all these years. You were alone most of the time,” he shakes his head “ _All_ the time. You don’t talk to anyone except when a teacher asks you a question in class. And you answer them correctly, every time. But aside from that, you…”

I was nothing.

“You distanced yourself from everyone, Stiles. I tried being friends with you again but you pushed me away. Literally.”

This is crazy. This is all crazy. It’s hard not to panic when it’s like this, when no one knows me and I don’t know where to get help. Where do I even start?

No, I have to do something. Something must’ve happened in Beacon Hills. Maybe our Alpha altered my pack’s memory, and made the pack forget me. But why just me? And after all, Scott is our Alpha. Can an Alpha alter his own memory?

Or maybe there’s a new witch who modifies reality. Maybe a new supernatural who came to Beacon Hills because now it’s legitimately a beacon for everything in this world that Science can never explain.

Deaton. Of course. Why didn’t I think about this first? If there’s anyone who knows enough of the supernatural, it’s Deaton. But what if he doesn’t know me, too? I was training to become his apprentice, the last time I was with him he was teaching me about binding spells.

Something must be done. Things can’t keep on being like this.

“Scott, do you believe me?”

He looks at me, and if I didn’t know him enough I wouldn’t know that the tiny furrows in his brow meant concern.

“I don’t know, Stiles, I~”

“You’ve been listening to my heartbeat all this time. You know I’m not lying,”

“But that’s, there are people who can cheat on that. If you know how to you can ask your heart to stay as calm as~”

“But I don’t. I’m not Deucalion~”

“How did you know Deu~”

“SCOTT! I need your help. You need to bring me to Deaton. You’re still working there part-time, right?” If he is.

He nods. 

“Good. Good. If he doesn’t know me, you have to introduce me to him. Tell him I’m your friend, and I can manage with the rest,” If Deaton trusts me enough, I can siphon all the information I can get, and things can get back to normal.

I jump away from the bed, and I wanted a quick hug from Scott, but it’ll be weird for him. The thought stings.

“Let’s go then.”

On our way out Allison approaches us, glancing at me quickly before hugging Scott. Before I can think of an explanation so that I wouldn’t have to explain to her, she speaks.

“Dad needs me. He’s found something, and…” she looks at me again and purses her lip. They’re working on something, and obviously I’m not involved. I wonder what or who is the latest mystery they’re trying to solve.

Back in…what to call it, my world? My time? We were containing Parrish before he can burn Beacon Hills or worst - the world, to ashes. He’s a Phoenix. I’ve seen him transform once, his bird form probably the most beautiful and magnificent being I have ever seen, with wings and tails black as the night that turns into a fiery fire at his will. Unfortunately his Phoenix is untamed (though Lydia is getting to that), therefore dangerous. He’s dying, too. We had to catch him and transport him to a volcano so he can re-power or else…

“Okay. Call me when you’re home,” Scott says, kissing Allison’s head.

She looks at me, and then almost hesitantly, “Bye, Stiles.”

I want to hug her. Badly. Maybe someday, before things turn back to normal and I can’t see her again. The thought of losing her all over again hurts.

“Allison!” I called out as she reach for the door. “I’m really glad to see you again,” She turned her head and smiled.

We were checking out of the clinic when I catch a glimpse of strawberry blond hair leaving Ms. Morell’s office - our school counselor. She’s wearing a sweater and a dress that probably belonged to her grandmother. Her hair is unkempt and she’s wearing no make-up, which are both firsts. She is still beautiful, she always is, but seeing her like this is off-putting. It’s not even close to the same person I know.

“Lydia?” I call. She looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights, and as quickly as she shot her head up she looked back down, clutching a book tightly against her chest. She hurriedly walks past us and goes for the door, her head bowed self-consciously. I follow her with my gaze at her until she was out of sight.

“You know her?” Scott asks.

“Yeah. She’s…” A fashion expert, the only person I know that is more intelligent than myself, the most dazzling and sophisticated person in Beacon Hills, a banshee. “She’s someone, at least from what I remember. What is she, here?”

Scott motions for the door so we start walking towards the exit as he talked, “Well, she’s…different,” I roll my eyes. Different in Scott’s vocabulary is nut job for a normal person. “She also keeps to herself, like you. She…she says she hears things, and most of the time she has this perplexed look on her face. Like she’s walking around the school but she doesn’t even know she was. She sometimes walks out during class, or runs around with hands covering her ears. She screams quite loudly too. People avoid her because, you know.”

“And this happened after she was bitten by Peter, right?”

“What?! She was bitten?”

“As far as I remember, yeah. I wasn’t there fast enough,”

Scott looks confused, “But she’s been like that for as long as I can remember.”

My heart sank. Lydia. The person I was infatuated with since I was nine. Prom Queen, the star of Beacon Hills High School. The most enigmatic person I have ever met.

Apparently she’s no one here, too.

What the hell is happening.


	2. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not beta-ed. Errors here and there, please bear with me.

o0o

“So, how close are we? In…in your world,” Scott asks as I drive the Jeep to Deaton’s.

“Uber. We we’re brothers, basically,” I reply, smiling. “We’ve spent almost every birthdays and holidays together. Just the two of us. Before we found Pack.”

A moment of silence follows. Then Scott looks outside the window.           

“At the start of our freshman year we were the underdogs. Just nothing, really, just two awkward and out-of-placed teenagers who were bad at La Crosse. And then you were bitten; things changed. Since then it’s been feeling like we were always running for our lives. Everything just happens so fast, there’s not much time to pause and just take everything in. There’s not even enough time to…to grieve for our losses,” I think of Allison, like I always do when there is time. Except in here, Allison is alive. “But we manage.”

Scott nods again. “That’s…that’s like the story of my life minus the ‘we’ parts.”

I look at him for a brief second before turning my attention back to the road.

What kind of life did Scott McCall lived without me? He survived, certainly. He even found Allison. I wonder, I wonder if there’s a substantial trajectory in his life that’s also been altered because I’m not a part of it. It’s selfish to think of that, I know, but. If it’s true that I’ve been living my life like a depressed loner, it’s probably because there is no Scott to drag me around and teach me the ways of life, even though it is usually the opposite.

I want to ask him how life’s been with him, without his sidekick best friend. But I fear the answers.

“Who’s part of your pack now?” I ask as I rounded a curve. It could literally be anyone, since Lydia and I are not part of it. Maybe Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. And Derek, maybe.

My heart sinks at the thought of Derek, knowing that I won’t have anything to do with him if I’m not a friend of Scott. It would mean I never met him.

“You mean Derek’s pack?” He glances at me.

“He’s still the Alpha?” I asked, intrigued. Has Scott haven’t become a True Alpha yet?

“He is  _the_ Alpha. Peter never regained the power despite being resurrected. Why? Is it different in…in your world?”

Wait, if Peter was resurrected, then Lydia was bitten? She was the sole instrument Peter used for his plot. How come…This is all confusing.

“Yeah, different,” I reply, deciding to leave the part where Scott becomes a True Alpha, and the Alpha of Beacon Hills pack. For future use. And there’s Derek, Derek still being the Alpha. I just hope the pack is in good state because, well, Derek wasn’t the best performing Alpha from where I came from.

Derek and I started this relationship I can never really put a label upon a few months ago. It’s in there somewhere between those labels. No one in the pack knew, though probably they’ve been smelling it from us a lot for some time now.

But, if I’m not a friend of Scott…there’s no way I would have met Derek.

In this place, I reminded myself. Just here.

Still, the thought grips at my chest, hard.

The thing I had with Derek was really awesome at first – just relieving some tension (we used to dislike each other so much) through angry sex and then going for casual…until feelings started getting in the way. It’s not even three months before I started getting butterflies at the mere thought of him, of his body heat and the way he smells and how he pushes me around. The way he protectively eyes me in public places and gaze at me intensely at pack meetings, as if undressing my soul. How his body would feel against mine as we cuddle until morning. And how I would not lock the window of my room, despite the dangers of Beacon Hills, because at 10PM I’m expecting him to knock and he’ll steal the night away. He does so, each time.

I’m glad though, that Derek was not the first thing in my mind amidst all these craziness. At least, I’m not as far gone as I thought I was. And if ever it comes down to it, I just have to remind myself that this Derek is not my Derek. If my Derek was ever really actually mine, in the first place.

“Wait, what’s the date today?” I ask suddenly. It’s important, even though things are not exactly the same here as it is where I come from.

 _Where I come from_ feels weird to use even though it’s just a temporary term, because it makes me feel like I don’t belong here, like I’m an alien or something. Even though, the sound of nighttime creatures and the cold wind hitting my face makes this present as real as breathing air.  

It makes my memories feel like borrowed scenes and clips from a TV show. But isn’t every memory like that? We don’t remember exactly the way things happened during those moments, or miniscule and less important details like the color of passing cars or the buzzing sound of the electric fan. We remember the most significant thing that happened during those moments, and, most often than not, the feelings associated with it. And even though the past may not feel as real as the present, it doesn’t make its existence less real.

That’s why I’m not the Stiles that everyone in this place knew, because I don’t remember living in this place. I don’t remember my mom raising me until I’m nine years old. I don’t remember spending most of my time in my room alone, and avoiding people and living like a ghost. I’m not that Stiles.

I’m Stiles Stilinski of Beacon Hills, future emissary of the McCall Pack.

“It’s October 1 of 2011,” Scott informs me after checking his phone.

I put the Jeep in a screeching halt.

“Deaton’s on the next block,” I heard Scott say, but I muted his voice as I focused on myself, trying to stop another wave of panic and nausea.

It’s the reason why Allison is not dead, and there is no Kira and Liam around yet. It was also October when the Nugitsune started taking over my body, and this, all this craziness must be the trickster’s doing. But then, this is a different timeline, right? Things are different here, surely Allison must survive in this place. If mom, no - she’s not my mom - Claudia managed to survive another nine years, maybe Allison’s destiny is the same. Or different. Maybe she’s not meant to die.

I gripped the steering wheel hard. What if I get possessed again by the Nugitsune? What if Allison has to die all over again? What if…

“Stiles, breathe. You’re okay, we’re going to Deaton’s and we’re going to know what’s happening,” His voice calms me. Knowing that even without our friendship Scott is still able to do this is quite a relief.

“Okay. Okay,” I reply, trying to even out my breathing.  

“I don’t want you to go into panic again, man, but, what was the last date you remember?”

“April 4,” I replied, reaching for the gear and starting the jeep again, “of 2012”

o0o

“Do you not trust me enough?” Scott asks exasperatedly. “Come on Alan, I’ve been working here since I was fourteen.”

“I trust you,” Deaton replies, looking from Scott and then at me. He was still inside the protection of the mountain ash after refusing to let me and Scott in.

“Me. It’s me who he doesn’t trust,” I blurt out. “It’s only fair, with the Trickster running around, we really shouldn’t trust anyone.”

“The trickster’s been annihilated,” Deaton says, eyeing me suspiciously. “I don’t know where you got the information, but the Nugitsune’s been dealt with by Derek’s pack.”

Relief washes over me. If he’s really gone, then this isn’t just one of his abhorrent tricks. I will not need to be possessed (though, I realized, I really won’t be possessed because I didn’t go inside the Nemeton’s super consciousness) and Allison won’t die in the hands of the black ninjas.

So, what are they fighting against as of this moment?

Not my business, I decide. I just need to get back to my world, or my time or whatever’s happening to me.

“Call your Alpha and I’ll deal with your friend,” Deaton says with finality, with the look he’s usually got on when he’s made up his mind. I sigh because I know that look. There’s no crossing it. And Scott surely knows it too, because a moment later he’s calling Derek’s number.

Wait, Derek. He’s calling Derek. My heart suddenly starts beating fast. No. He’s not my Derek, I remind myself. Not my Derek.

Desperate for a distraction I turn to Deaton, “Hey, what’s the final incantation in closing a binding spell?” He was supposed to teach me the last steps in finishing the spell last time I saw him, before Scott rushed to tell us that the Phoenix had been sighted outside Lydia’s house. We had to leave then, because we had to bind the bird to Parrish’s body, in hope that that would give the Deputy control over his animal form. I helped Deaton cast the spell, because it takes two ‘druids’ to bind a powerful bird, but one is enough to finish the spell.

Deaton eyes me again. “The binding spell is a complex and powerful magic. Knowing the incantation is not enough to close it, you need to have the power. What do you know of spells?”

“Enough,” I reply. “Just so my friends won’t have to watch for me while they save the world, and I don’t have to feel so weak with all these fairy tale creatures running around.”

Deaton quirks a brow. “Show me, then. Whatever you know.”

Ever since coming back from Anglesey at the The Isle of Ynys Mon for my first druidic training as Deaton’s apprentice, my powers have improved. I had to push myself and learn as much as possible from Deaton and the Elder Druids so that I can help Scott’s Pack, as its future emissary. Especially since Beacon Hills is, again, literally a beacon for supernatural things. At first it felt silly – magic training, that is - but apparently I was born druid. Someone in my family line, not my parents and not my grandparents I’m sure, was a druid so I inherited some innate abilities.

The Elder Druids are powerful beings, their mortal body merged with their etheric nature. It’s the price they pay for the power; their biophysical biology needs to be modified for their full capacity. I had no interest in becoming a human tree, so I was taught the way Deaton was taught, the basics of Druidism with specialization as a Lycan Emissary. I know, it sounded like a degree.  

I was quite popular with the other apprentices too. Because apparently my eyes glow white whenever I do magic. Perks of having the druid blood.

Scott ends his call and slides his phone to his pocket. I couldn’t think much of what spell to use, but I picked the easiest.

I move towards Scott, moving exactly the way I was trained to – meant to tame and control - locking my eyes with his. A moment of doubt and then, I felt it, the strange lurching of my stomach, and I knew Scott was under the spell. I reach behind his ears, gently rubbing at the point where his hair meets skin, and chants.

Scott was starting to transform, my spell coaxing it out of him. His eyes flashes yellow, claws starting to morph out of human nails, fur slowly sprouting out of his skin. Before he can fully transform I aborted the spell and did the opposite: forcing a werewolf to shift back to human just so we won’t have to deal with naked Scott.

“That’s very basic Lycan Morphing. I also know bits and pieces of Botanilingualism, Animal Empathy and Communication, and I was working with my own Animal Morph but I had to stop because something happened in…in my home,”

I heard Deaton clapped from somewhere behind. “Impressive.” I faced him and found him smiling, eyes glistening proudly. “It’s a good thing Derek isn’t here yet. He won’t appreciate you controlling one of his betas, because you are not his pack’s Emissary.”

My eyes widen. “Oh shit. I forgot I’m not allowed to do that outside my pack. I just…Scott _is_ my pack. At least that’s what I know.”

Deaton nods. “He won’t have to know,” he glances at Scott who nods as well. “I was the one who told you to use a spell after all. When I was your age all I could do was Lycan Empathy. Though it’s probably because I’m more inclined with~”

“Potion Creation, Runes, and Talismans,” I finish for him. That was exactly what he said when I managed to perfect the spell when I was in training.

“Who trained you?” Deaton asks, deactivating the power of the mountain ash of his counter with a flick of his hand. (He was showing off, obviously, because a normal druid would still need a deactivating chant).

“Someone great,” I reply and then, “You did.”

He pauses, stopping just between the door of the barrier and a step back. “What?”

I notice Scott has been gaping at me ever since I forced him to shift and shift back, “That’s what we’re here for” Scott blurts out, finally composing himself. “Stiles here has memories of another Stiles from another world.”

I look at Scott. I haven’t considered it that way.  

“What do you mean?” Deaton asks, finally motioning Scott and me to go inside.

Deaton’s working area, aka the operating table for injured and dying werewolves, is still the same, in fact it was exactly the way I remembered it to be that it gave me flashbacks of the countless times I was here with a pack member.

“When I woke up this morning everything’s changed. Literally. My bedroom, our house, the school. Even people changed,” I shuddered at the thought of Lydia. “And no one recognizes me the way I remember myself to be. Actually almost nothing’s the way I remembered it to be.”

“That’s why I said he has a memory of a different Stiles. Because, you know, the Stiles we know is…distanced,” Scott chimes in.

Deaton looks at me with his brow furrowed - a look I recognize that says _I hate that you’re all depending on me because I don’t what to do either_.

“And that’s why you know basic Druidism? Because someone – I – was your connoisseur? That’s what you remember?” he clarifies. I nod firmly.

“What’s your relationship with Scott?”

“We’re pack.”

“What’s the date today?”  

I exchanged looks with Scott and he nodded at me encouragingly.

“I’ve already discussed the dates with Scott. When I woke up today the date I know is April of 2012. But Scott said that it’s October of 2011.”

Deaton’s puzzled look becomes even more puzzled. “Possibly Time Jumping, but if that, everything else should still be the same, except for the events that you have missed during the jump,”

Suddenly the door of the clinic opens, and I don’t even have to look to know who it was. His presence is always like a ripple in space. I just know whenever he’s around. I bow my head from where I’m standing and study my hands, as if I could read my future.

Right. Divination. If I stayed at the Ynys Mon longer I would’ve tackled basic Divination. Maybe things would makes sense a bit, even though for something as complex and fucked up as this situation a Seer would be more helpful.

“Hey,” I hear him say to Scott, probably. Why would he know me. “Where is he?”

Scott pointed at me, I can see his arms in my periphery. The tattoo Derek gave him is not there. Of course, I was there when he gave it to him.

“You’re the Sheriff’s son, right?” He asks, acknowledging my presence. I wanted to make a smart remark, but the words seemed stuck at my throat, my fear of looking at his face getting the best of me. “He seems normal to me.”

“You mean mute and closed off as always?” I mutter, still not bothering to look up.

“Oh. It speaks,” he mutters back.

Before I could utter a reply Deaton starts explaining my situation to Derek. And then he was back at asking me questions. Derek and Scott remain at the background, and I can’t help feeling calm with their presence. They’re pack, or at least that’s what my brain thinks.

“So?” I ask Deaton. Everyone’s been quiet for a while now, just waiting for Deaton to announce whatever he has deduced from my situation.

“This requires an overnight or two for me to be accurate. Even then, I would never be accurate, because this is the first time I’ve encountered this…phenomenon. I would try to contact the other Druids so I can know their insight on this,” he said, looking apologetic.

No. I can’t. I can’t live another day or two with things being the way it is right now. But really, what did I expect? For Deaton to have a magic potion that I can drink and everything will return back the way they should be?

“What’s your theory then?” I ask, gulping. At least an explanation would do. For now.

He sighs. “There’s quite a lot of things that could explain something similar to your situation, but nothing exactly the same as this. That’s why I need to consult the others~”

“Give me three theories,” I ask him. Something to keep my head occupied for the ‘night or two.’ “Please.”

“I don’t know Stiles, I don’t think you should dwell on my theories so hard, because they’re not much. But then if you insist. My first is that you’re under a curse. What curse, I don’t know. Second, a warlock or a witch as strong as the deities capable of Memory Manipulation is playing you. Third, you had a concussion.”

He looked at me as if he was expecting me to laugh. I didn’t.

“I was joking about the concussion. A concussion is not enough to give you druidic powers.”

As if I don’t know. Druidic training is not as easy as it sounds. It’s tiring, both mentally and physically. There was not a day that I didn’t feel drained after a day of spells and enchantment. The greater the spell I attempt, the greater energy I consume. And that’s the thing with Druid spells; it uses your own life force and energy for the magic to work. There are weaker humans who die accidently after trying a powerful magic. That’s also the reason why Druid are powerful in groups and they do powerful magic in numbers. Greater power in numbers, with minimal casualties and energy drain. 

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask Scott as Derek and Deaton talked.

“No, uhm, Derek said there’s pack meeting,”

I nodded, a split second before I remember I’m not part of this pack. “What are you fighting against this time?”

“Quiet difficult to say. Mostly mysterious disappearances,” he answers.

Something flickered in my mind again. Then it’s gone.

“People disappearing in the swamps, mountain climbers and hikers not coming back, children having mysterious diseases with no apparent cure, forest campers not returning to their homes,” he says with a tired sigh. “We really could use as many help~”

“I can’t,” I stopped him, regretting I asked. “I can’t help. I need to go back to the place where I’m from. Those are sad news but it’s not my…my responsibility.”

I avoid Scott’s gaze, knowing I would hate the expression he’s wearing. He usually look like a kicked wolf pup when he’s rejected like this.

“Shame,” Deaton says from behind. I turn to look at him. A mistake because my eyes immediately finds Derek - instinctively. “We could really use another druid.”

“I’m still an apprentice, and I don’t intend staying long here. I need to go back. My pack needs me,”

I glance at Scott, regretting it immediately because he still has that disappointed look - Derek and Deaton the same.

I turn away.

o0o

The ride home is tiring, as if it’s possible to be more tired than I already am. I try to stop my brain from thinking, thoughts and information barging inside my mind like unwelcomed intruders.

The house is still dead and quiet when I arrive, the clock saying it is 9:30PM and yet dad is still not home.

“Dad?” I call despite knowing there will be no answer.

I drop my bag and went for the stairs, yearning for the comfort of my own bed. And then I remember this is not my room, not my house. This is that Stiles’ house, the one who was raised by his mum until he was nine, the one who selfishly asked for the milk that killed his mother, and then lived like a ghost ever since.

I hate him.

There’s jealousy somewhere in there, too. With the fact that he got to know Claudia, felt how it is to be cared by a mother.

Even the air of his room feels…sad. The tea-colored wallpaper and the underlying theme that screams dark making my Jeep feel like a much better sleeping quarter. I walk towards his CD rack (positioned adjacent, rather than opposite, to the bed that I didn’t notice it this morning) smiling when I saw some Aqualung CDs even though it was missing two albums. At least, our love for Aqualung was mutual. The board is still gone, though.

I flop down the bed and check the clock. 9:45.

Why is Dad not yet here? Did something happened? What if…what if he’s…Scott said there are mysterious disappearances all around Beacon Hills.

My breathing becomes quicker and shallower, and something in my mind flickers. A few seconds later I hear someone open the front door, and I ease out a relieved breath. I stay there like that, listening to his heavy footsteps as he walk around the house, reaching for the refrigerator and drinking water. He goes up the stairs and stops by my room. I wait, even though I have no idea what to do or say if he comes in. He’s not my dad, not really. I don’t know what kind of relationship he had with this Stiles. A minute later he starts walking towards his own room, probably deciding not to bother me in my sleep.

I check the clock. 9:57.

Something in my stomach burned. I feel the familiar pang of excitement and the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach. I reach for the window and unlocked it, expecting Derek to come any minute soon.

He didn’t.

o0o

The next morning, I planned not to attend school to do some research at my house. But what if the original Stiles goes back, and he goes cursing me for not attending his classes. Besides, something inside me wanted to meet Derek’s pack, and probably know more about Lydia and the others.

I didn’t even know I was stopping outside Scott’s house until I was. I shake my head and turns the jeep on to leave, but the door opens and Scott comes out.

“Stiles?” he calls, smiling with that crazy dopey smile Kira is crazy with. No, Allison, I remind myself. Kira’s not on Beacon Hills yet. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know. My mind was a bit preoccupied and I wasn’t thinking clearly. We do this every day, from where I come from,” I reach for the lock of the passenger door for him and push it open. He shrugs, throwing his bag inside and climbed in.

It could’ve been any normal day, except for the awkward silence that happened after.

“Hey, uhm. Do you know any Kira Yakimura around school?” I try to make my voice casual and unconcerned.

“No,” he smiles, “Is she your girlfriend?”

God.

“Nope. She’s a good friend though.”

He nods, reaching for his phone to read a text. Presumably from Allison. He never smiles like that except for anything Allison related. Then, he frowns and quickly glances at me.

“Dude. You were saying something about Allison being…” he shudders visibly. “Dead.”

I blanch. 

“Yeahhh…bout that…” I take a deep breath. “You don’t have to worry man, things here are infinitely different from where I come home. My mom died while giving birth to me, yet here she managed to live until I was nine.”

I thanked the heavens because we were already the parking lot. I don’t want to push through with this conversation. I cannot assure him with things like that when I fear it myself. Better just ignore.

Just after I turned off the engine and parked the car, a familiar vehicle catches my attention. It’s Derek’s Camaro.

“Hey, isn’t that Derek’s car?”

Scott didn’t have to answer, though, because Derek goes out, wearing a simple blue V-neck that still makes him look like a model. I laughed for the first time since yesterday. When did he started wearing colored T-shirts?

The passenger side of the Camaro opens, and I had to squint my eyes to make sure it was who I think it was.

Jackson.

My heart skips a beat.

Derek runs to Jackson’s side of the car and waited for him to finish fishing out his things. I had to convince myself he wasn’t checking out Jackson bending over.

When Jackson finishes doing whatever it was that he was doing, he pulls his head out and catches Derek checking him out _._ _He smirks,_ closes the door, and Derek gently pushes him against it, their hips pressed tightly against each other.

 “God, take away my super-hearing right now,” Scott says beside me, his hands covering his ears and eyes shut. I know I should probably do the same, but I didn’t. “They do this all the time. You don’t want to hear what I’m hearing.”

Knowing Derek, he’s possibly saying something like _what do you think you’re doing, bending over like that?_ Or _that’s a boner to keep you thinking of me while you’re in class_.

Both are actual things my Derek said to me before.

Jackson smiles at him, looking up at him almost shyly through his long and perfect lashes. Derek leans in and…

I close my eyes.

Not my Derek, I tell myself. Not my Derek.

 


	3. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you so much for the kind words last chapter, and the kudos. You are all awesome. <3
> 
> I have made a really important detail-change from the last chapter, and you all have to know because it’s an important arc in the future. I’m asking for your forgiveness because, this is probably a violation of some writing codec or something like that. Here it is: I changed Derek’s partner from Isaac to Jackson. Yep, no longer adorable puppy-faced Isaac, but asshole hot&smoldering Jackson. So, I’m really sorry because it feels unprofessional to do that when I have already published it (and some commented upon having affected by Derek and Isaac already)
> 
> This is my very first in writing a fanfiction, and the thing is, I have bits and pieces of ideas for this story, but never the whole of it. Like, I was riding the train when I suddenly thought that Jackson is a perfect match for Derek because there’s just so much in his character that I could make tiny conflicts with Stiles, and the whole story. With Isaac, not much. 
> 
> Having said that, I will also make it clear that posting schedule is unknown. As I said the plot is still ever-changing, some idea literally pops in my mind at the most random of times, and I have to revise. I was too excited to share the second chapter that I didn’t think things as thorough as I should have, and I regretted the Isaac and Derek concept.
> 
> So, chapters will have to be posted also a bit late because I need to make sure that I will publish the right ideas that I can be responsible for in the future.  
> I wish not to repeat this mistake again, and I hope you understand. I’ve inserted the scene I have changed in the beginning of this chapter. You HAVE to read it. 
> 
> Additional Note: Some spoilers mentioned for TW Season 4. Do not ignore, I literally named who the Benefactor was.

o0o

The next morning, I was thinking of not attending school and doing some research at my house. But what if this place's Stiles goes back, and he goes cursing me for not attending his classes. Besides, something inside me wanted to meet Derek’s pack, and probably know more about Lydia and the others.

I didn’t even know I was stopping outside Scott’s house until I was. I was thinking of leaving, but then the house’s door opened and Scott came out.

“Stiles?” he called, smiling with that crazy dopey smile Kira is crazy with. No, Allison, I reminded myself. Kira’s not on Beacon Hills yet. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know. My mind was a bit preoccupied and I wasn’t thinking clearly. It’s just that we do this every day, from where I come from,” I reached for the lock of the passenger door for him and pushed it open. He shrugged, then threw his bag inside and climbed in.

It could’ve been any normal day, except for the awkward silence that happened after.

“Hey, uhm. Do you know any Kira Yukimura around school?” I tried to make my voice casual and unconcerned.

“No,” he smiled, “Is she your girlfriend?”

God.

“Nope. She’s a good friend though.”

He nodded, reaching for his phone and reading a text presumably from Allison. He never smiles like that except for anything Allison related. Then, he frowned and glanced at me.

“Dude. You were saying something about Allison being,” he shudders “dead.”

I blanched.

“Yeahhh…bout that…” I sighed. “You don’t have to worry man, things here are infinitely different from where I come from. My mom died while giving birth to me, yet here she managed to live until I was nine.”

I muttered a thank you when we reached the parking lot, not wanting any more to push through with this conversation. I cannot assure him with things like that when I fear it myself. Better just ignore.

Just after I turned off the engine and parked the car, a familiar vehicle caught my attention. It was Derek’s Camaro.

“Hey, isn’t that Derek’s car?”

Scott didn’t have to answer, though, because Derek goes out, wearing a simple _blue_ V-neck that he still manage to pull off like a model. I laughed for the first time since yesterday. When did he started wearing colored T-shirts?

The passenger side of the Camaro opened, and I had to squint my eyes to make sure it was who I think it was. Jackson.

My heart skipped a beat.

Derek goes over his side and waited for him to finish fishing out his things. I had to convince myself he wasn’t checking out Jackson bending over.

When Jackson finished doing whatever he was doing, he pulled his head out and caught Derek checking him out _._ _He smirked,_ closed the door, and Derek gently pushed him against it, making sure their hips are pressed tightly against each other.

“God, take away my superhearing right now,” Scott muttered beside me, his hands covering his ears, eyes shut. I know I should probably do the same, but I didn’t. “They do this all the time. You don’t want to hear what I’m hearing.”

Knowing Derek, he’s possibly saying something like _what do you think you’re doing, bending over like that?_ Or _that’s a boner to keep you thinking of me while you’re in class_. (Both are actual thing my Derek said to me before.)

Jackson smiled at him, looking up at him with long lashes. Derek leaned in and…

I closed my eyes.

“They never tell the pack that they’re hooking up, even when they’re being as careless as this. Ugh. They’re unbearable,” Scott said.

Not my Derek, I told myself. Not my Derek.

It’s difficult, though. It’s hard to convince myself that he is not my Derek when he looked at Jackson the way he would look at me.

What if this is just some sort of a sick joke? Or a curse, just like Deaton’s theory. Or another mind game of another Trickster?

Something has to be done before people does things they will regret. Derek and Jackson? I want to throw up. I might, anytime soon if all this craziness won’t stop.

I decided not to open my eyes until I’ve heard Derek’s Camaro driving away from the parking lot.

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott asked. I opened my eyes.

“Yeah. Just. Nevermind,” If never told Scott – the one who’s my bestfriend - about Derek, why would I tell this Scott? “Hey, uhm, I decided I’m not going to school. I might just embarrass myself, things aren’t really the same you know so I’d probably just stay at home.”

“But you’ll miss class. Stiles never miss class,” He does the kicked puppywolf expression again.

“I’m not that Stiles,” I muttered. “Honestly I’m not sure. This is all very…confusing. It will never not be. I just need to sit down first, and think things through. Try to do some research as well.”

Scott nodded. “Call me then, if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

o0o

As soon as I arrived at the house I went for the computer, searching for things like _memory manipulation, alternate realities, memory loss (and memory add?),_ even going for _concussions_ and _schizophrenia_ just so things won’t be biased. I’m even considering taking another MRI, just in case my mom’s illness is truly making its way into my brain this time.

I don’t really know what to feel with the fact that I’m searching for clues regarding what’s actually wrong with _me._ When the truth is, I almost feel perfectly fine (except for the constant state of panicky feeling and mind flickering), while those around me are actually the ones who’s being weird, being wrong.

Like Allison being alive.

Not being friends with Scott.

Derek hooking up with Jackson, which makes no sense because as far as I know Jackson’s true love is Lydia. But then again, the Lydia I saw yesterday is not the Lydia I know. What if Jackson haven’t even laid an eye on her, since she’s not popular?

After almost four hours of surfing the internet and realizing (just like every time before) that it’s impossible to find legit resources without every story being tinted with pop culture, I was feeling exhausted.

I put on another layer of jacket and went outside, inhaling the strangely familiar scent of October. Druids are one of the creatures of nature, and even though their purpose and existence has always been tied with the living society, they can still converse with their environment like other nature-spirits such as fairies and elementals.

I spread my arms into the open space and chanted, asking the nature to replenish my strength. I felt the winds blew stronger, the fallen leaves rising from the grounds and surrounding me like a barrier, and then the warmth of the sun.

When I opened my eyes, I was feeling refreshed. Physically, at least.

After offering my gratitude by blessing a nearby tree, I went back to my room and started working. I have formulated some theories myself, but still not enough to really cover what’s happening to me.

The closest explanation I have is the Dissociative Personality Disorder wherein after certain emotionally traumatic events a person starts creating an alter ego as his coping mechanism. The problem is that I don’t remember anything about the life that I’m supposed to have had in this place, and the memories I have is about a life that doesn’t fit in this with this place, either.

And besides, I doubt that a personality disorder could transform a depressive person into a druid.

I need the Bestiary. I just hope that the Argents will lend it to me.

Allison. Right. She’s alive and I can just call Scott and ask him to borrow it from her.

I reached for my phone under the pillows and opened it, not bothering to listen to the voice inside my head saying that the phone may or may not be mine and how did I know that the phone is under the pillows.

The problem is, I don’t know Scott’s number (in this place) and surely, this Stiles would not have his number either.

Still, I opened the contacts for good measures and oh, good, he has Dad’s number, and then Peter Hale.

Oh my fucking god. Why does he have that psychopath’s number?

I pressed call.

“Peter’s Pizza Place, good morning!” Says a rather pleasant voice that would’ve further encroached me into buying his pizza except for the fact that that same voice had once offered me the bite and threatened to kill Lydia if I didn’t do what he asked.

I actually seriously laughed, forgetting that he’s already on the other line, probably hearing me. A Pizza Place? Back home he’s gone as far as being batshit crazy enough to influence Meredith into creating a dead pool and manipulating my pack just so he could steal being the Alpha from Scott. Those, on top of all the other hideous things he’s done like killing Laura and changing Scott and Lydia’s life forever, without consent.

Here, did he wanted to be resurrected just so he could build his own friggin _Peter’s Pizza Place?_

“Stiles? Is that you?” he asked, voice sounding disturbingly concerned. I shuddered. “Stiles, why haven’t you been going to work?”

Okay, what? Since when did I started working? As if Dad would allow me to.

“So, you’re my boss?” When would things stop being crazy?

A moment and then, creepily, “Stiles are you okay?”

Ugh. “Okay I’m hanging up bye”

I scrolled further down the contacts, hoping to see any other person that I might be rightfully associated with, before realizing that there’s nothing more to scroll down to because there are only 5 numbers on the phone: Dad, Peter, Some Chinese Takeaway, Emergency Number, and Mom.

I closed my eyes, something close to pity burning inside my chest. Does this Stiles literally has no one?

o0o

I went to Scott’s place as soon as I finished lunch, still put-off by how empty the kitchen is. The refrigerator was not even plugged as if it hasn’t been used for months. Have they been living off Chinese take outs? Doesn’t this Stiles know that that is bad for the health of Dad? Does he want to lose him too? Isn’t Dad the only living person he has on his contacts, aside from the crazy shizz Peter fucking Hale? Then why isn’t he taking care of him?

I wouldn’t have minded saying Hi to Melissa but when I stopped outside their house, Scott is already at the driveway, seemingly waiting for someone. I got off the car and walked towards him.

“Stiles. It’s good to see you again,” He greeted almost formally and I reminded myself he’s not my bro. Yet.

“Good to see you too. Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah, uhm. Allison. We’re having pack meeting at Derek’s place. Did you come to see me?”

Sigh. I don’t really want to see Derek yet. Or ever, unless everything’s back to normal and we’re back to cuddling.

“Yeah, actually. About that. Do you think Allison would let me borrow the Bestiary? I need to try and see if I can, you know, find out some things about…what’s happening to me.”

Scott looked apprehensive at first before his face morphed into that i’m-going-to-offend-you-but-i-don’t-really-want-to expression he’s so good at.

“I’m sure she would like to. But it’s like, a family heirloom to them, sooo...”

I nodded.

“But maybe you can come to the pack meeting. Allison is going to discuss something about what she’s found. Maybe you can scan the whole thing while we’re figuring things out about the disappearances,” he suggested.

“Thanks man,” I smiled.

He smiled back with his usual genuine smile and then looked away.

“Stiles, uhm, what you did to me…at Deaton’s. When you made me transform and back…it’s...it’s been the nicest way that I have ever transformed in my entire were-life. You know, shifting to another form is not the nicest feeling. It’s uncomfortable and, well, weird. If I hadn’t been so used to it, I would’ve said painful. So, thanks. And it’ll be really useful for our pack, especially since we’re training new betas. Maybe you can teach them control?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. My thoughts are running a million miles a minute. Before I could start getting upset I forced myself into saying, “Isn’t that Derek and Deaton’s job? As the Alpha and the Emissary of the Hale Pack.”

“Yeah, but, Derek’s a bit…tough on betas. And Deaton’s power isn’t as strong as before.”

“What? What happened to Deaton?”

“He’s sick, kinda. The Darach targeted our Emissary first, so we’re weakened. The Darach’s been dealt with months ago, but Deaton’s power never came back the same as before. It’s like, his life force is cracked, and it’s bleeding until now.”

People, this is a display of Scott’s subtle attempt in recruitment. Well, Scott never really learned the art of subtlety.

I would’ve felt honored because it’s like being reserved for a lifetime job before I have even graduated. It’s just that I’ve already agreed to be the emissary of another pack, the McCall pack. Which I don’t know where to find, or how to go back to.

And there’s something in his proposition, too, that makes me uneasy. I think I have made my point clear that I don’t want to stay, that there’s a pack somewhere that’s waiting for me. Why is he asking me this? Did they not believe me? Did I really sounded that crazy?

No doubt. If I feel crazy, why would I not sound crazy to others?

A few seconds later I saw Allison’s car park behind my Jeep. I try to, again, not be surprised seeing her alive like this. But it’s almost impossible to.

She went out of her car and walked towards us, perching a quick kiss on Scott’s lips and smiling at me.

“Stiles,” she said. “We’ll be seeing a lot of you from now on, aren’t we?”

“I hope not,” I mutter. They both make pained faces and I can’t deal with that so, “I mean I don’t wish for things to stay like this. I need to go back. Whatever ‘going back’ (I airqouted) means.”

She nodded, “Scott briefed the pack about your…situation. I hope you’ll find a solution.”

I hope so too.

o0o

I followed Allison’s car to Derek’s loft, as if I didn’t know how to. As if I haven’t been going there countless times alone. My hands were trembling as I gripped the steering wheel, the anticipation of seeing Derek with Jackson clouding my head. They’re probably going to eye sex each other until they can’t take it anymore that someone has to go to the bathroom to get off and the other follows and they give each other quick and dirty hand job. Or they’ll wait until everyone’s gone and Derek pushes Jackson against the wall as soon as the last car gets out of his werewolf hearing.

It’s almost impossible to bear, except that I have to because as soon as I set my hands on the Bestiary there’s a chance that I’d get closer to whatever’s happening to everyone around me. I have other thoughts, too, like what if I can’t find an answer and what if this is permanent and what if loneliness has really gotten into my mind and took over my sanity but I try to ignore them. For now.

I need to focus on finding a solution.

When we arrived at the loft, I was hit again by a feeling of nostalgia, remembering the hundred memories associated with this place, both with Derek and Pack.

“We have a new Beta; Isaac,” Allison informed me as Scott knocked. “New betas are often territorial, so, you may distance yourself a bit before we introduce you. But knowing Isaac,” she smiles this shy-fond smile she also does so well and my eyes widen. “He’s like a puppy. He won’t hurt you.”

Except that Isaac and I, even in my memories, were never that fond of each other. We keep exchanging this smartass comments (mine) and useless banters (his) but at least we’re cordial.

“Trust me Stiles can handle himself,” Scott said proudly.

The metal door slides open, revealing a very…domestic-looking Erica. I tooka few steps back, hands flying to my mouth again. She’s dead. She’s supposed to be dead. Strangely, I don’t find it as surprising as I did for Allison. Not anymore.

After a while though, I almost smiled at the sight of her. She’s not the type to wear floral dresses and wear her hair in a messy bun, but she is that right now. Goodbye, black leather jackets and red lipstick.

I would’ve hugged her because she’s so homey looking but then she punches Scott’s gut while keeping a rather satisfied smirk, “For not keeping your word. You never came back yesterday.”

Wow. Erica, people.

Allison did that girly cheek-to-cheek with her and Erica leaned to her too while still keeping grip on Scott’s shoulder.

“Your boyfriend is a dick,” she said with a smile.

“I know,” Allison chuckled and then looked at me. “Come,”

“So, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, you all know Stiles. Derek discussed him a bit yesterday and he goes to our school,” Allison started announcing. As soon as I enter though, feeling a bit awkward to be introduced to people I know so well, Isaac shifted into his werewolf form. His Alpha should’ve forced him to shift back but Derek is nowhere here.

“Isaac, calm down. He’s a friend of Scott,” Erica ordered and I immediately know she’s Derek’s Second. (I also preened upon hearing I’m a friend of Scott bec that was quick)

Isaac growled, so I locked eyes with him. I chanted as I advanced forward, and the others must’ve felt threatened because they were growling at me too. Scott started holding Erica against the wall.

Boyd launched forward (and I would’ve thought of something like OMG HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD) except that he’s going for my throat. I raised my hand and chanted a calming charm, focusing my energy on both Boyd and Isaac. It was surprisingly easy. I can practically feel my power like an extension of my body, as if I could will it into doing anything and it will obey, so I extended it to Erica.

They were humans again within 5 seconds.

“Woah,” Allison said and I almost _woahed_ with her too, because woah. I never knew I can control two werewolves at the same time, let alone three.

“What was that?” Erica asked as soon as she’s realized what’s happened.

“I told you he was awesome,” Scott chimed in, smiling proudly.

“He’s scary,” Erica said, brows furrowed. “He’s not even our Alpha but he’s able to control us like that. We’re basically defenseless against him.”

I raised both of my hands, “I mean no harm. I’m just here because I need help. And you’re not defenseless, no druid can control an Alpha. And your Alpha can snap off my influence to his betas in just one scary growl. I’m not your pack’s emissary.”

“That’s a really nice display of power, Stilinski. But my pack is not a circus. I can count all of the emissary rules you’ve just broken,” I heard Derek said somewhere behind me. I turned around. My heart would have made some teenager-ish thump thump but I have just been threatened. “You attacked my betas and forced three of them to shift back, without their Alpha’s consent. All of this under the ground that you’re not my pack’s emissary, which you never seem to forget announcing but you keep acting otherwise.”

My mind usually thinks fast enough to prepare a counter snarky remark to save off my face and wallow on my hurt later, at the comfort of bedroom and at the sponge that is my pillow. But seeing Jackson behind him, carrying half the grocery he was carrying even though Derek could’ve carried them himself, made the words turn into a lump in my throat.

Maybe they stopped somewhere, too, in the mall’s parking lot maybe or at the side of the road because Derek likes risky places and then fucked inside the car with the windows closed but it’s not even tinted.

And then after everything’s done Derek laughed at the moist and perspirations that covered the car’s windows. Suddenly he reached over, his other arm still wrapped around me and the other tracing a heart in the moist. He wrote my name inside the heart, and I said “ _why just me? What about you? Usually it’s something like Stiles <3 Derek or vice versa you’re such a failwolf even at cheesy things,” _because I blabber when I’m nervous and don’t know how to deal with things.

He smiled though and I knew because I felt his facial hair rub against my cheeks which means his own cheeks just stretched itself into a smile. “I lovehate it when you call me failwolf.”

“Why?”

“Hate, well because it’s not exactly a compliment. Love because you make me want to do better.”

“Oh my fucking god, Derek Hale. I’m so embarrassed for you right now.”

He chuckled, the motion vibrating between our naked bodies making something warm pool in my chest.

“There’s a reason why, though.”

“Hmm?”

“Why it’s only your name inside the heart,”

I laughed. “You want an out, failwolf?”

“Because I love you with all my heart, there’s not even a space for myself.”

Silence followed after that. It’s hard to know the borderline between shameless flirting and heart-deep honesty when he’s being like this.

“Stiles?” I heard Scott say. “Are you okay? You sort of spaced out.”

I shook my head.

“Yeah,” I coughed. “I’m sorry, Alpha Hale. And please don’t hold grounds against me, I’m just an apprentice. I don’t even have an emissary license yet for you to dispel.”

I didn’t know how he looked, because I wasn’t looking at him. I was literally looking at everywhere but him. I hate him right now. I hate that he’s not my Derek, and my Derek is nowhere to be found and I don’t know how to reach him.

“You’re not an apprentice either,” Jackson added. “Deaton never confirmed that. You can be just a random spellcaster for all we know who’s breaking pack rules and territories. Are you sure your mind’s not just making this all up?”

“I know three spells that could humiliate you beyond repair. I could use it right now,” I snapped.

“Ey ey chill out people,” Scott said, bro-bumping shoulders with Jackson. I hate this place. He walked towards me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “As I was saying, it was all a misunderstanding. Right, guys?”

Isaac, Boyd, Allison, and even Erica nods. I can feel the three betas wanting to be pet, liking how smooth their transformation was. I miss my pack.

“This is the last time you’ll be using magic to this pack, Stiles.” Derek warned, “or else…Do you understand?”

“I do,” my eyes feel like they’re burning. “Can I use the Bestiary now, or do you have to use it first?” I asked Allison.

“Use it first,” she smiled reassuringly like the supportive sister I never had.

I flopped on the vacant chair at the far corner of the room. It’s only when I’ve sat down that I noticed how different Derek’s loft is. It’s more…sophisticated and homey. There are actual pictures on the wall of the Hale family and the pack. There’s an expensive looking set of couches in the middle where the pack is gathered now, and an actual chandelier hanging just above them. There are also high shelves all around filled with books that only Derek probably opened. There’s a kitchen too that I can see on the open door from where I sat, looking as royal and expensive as the living room. Derek’s bedroom, I don’t know. I never will, I guess. And I don’t have a plan to.

I just miss home so bad. I miss Derek’s loft, despite its monochromatic theme. At least I have my own _bean bag chair_ there.

I probably will never belong to this place with these people who looks familiar but doesn’t feel so.

I glanced down at the Bestiary and started turning the pages carefully. I don’t know where to start, but since witches are one of Deaton’s guesses, I started reading about them.

I can’t seem to focus, though, not when I can see replicas of my pack trying to solve something and my mind thinks I’m here in the corner doing nothing. I looked at them. They were all gathered in the couch. Derek was standing in front of them, Boyd standing in the background. Jackson was sitting in the single chair. Allison is sandwiched between Scott and Isaac. She was holding hands with Scott, but her body is more inclined towards Isaac, almost leaning to him.

Oh my God. It’s happening. Scott’s going to face The Fallout soon. God I need to disappear from this place.

“Okay, so we know that there are disappearances,” I heard Derek’s voice, confident and Alpha-like. Has he really improved into a good Alpha all this time? “But what we don’t know is if those people who disappeared are still alive. Figuring out if there are survivors or not will give us a more defined task. Erica?”

“If they are alive, we need to find them. If they’re dead, we have to find the killer,” the Second replied, mirroring her Alpha’s thoughts.

“But how do we know if they are dead or alive? We don’t even know where to search for the bodies,” Isaac asked, and surprise, he’s still as unhelpful as ever.

Wait…what?

I stood. “I know someone who can help you search for the bodies.”

They all looked at me. But especially, I looked at Jackson. “Does anybody know Lydia Martin?”

“The Lunatic?” Jackson replied, probably thinking I was asking him. Allison threw him a pillow. A dagger would’ve been more fun.

Lunatic, huh? Let’s see, Jackson. Let’s see you fall deeply in love with her and watch you choke on your own, cruel words.

“Why? What can she do?” Derek asked.

“Oh my God,” I muttered. “You have a banshee running around and you don’t even know.”

Their jaws fell.

Not just that. They have a banshee, a phoenix, and a psychopathic Hale running around and they don’t even know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously not beta-ed. Where do I even find people who'd beta this? T_T


	4. Genim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a confusing chapter, but it will make sense in the next ones. I swear I know what I'm doing! XD
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of underage sex, depression, mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts.

When the feeling of numbness started wearing off and reality started climbing its way up to the surface of my consciousness, I knew I was awake.

I hoped I was not.

I wished I died with them years ago; mom when I was nine and dad when I was fourteen. Although I did, certainly. I knew pieces of myself died with them as their coffins where buried on the ground, gone forever and never coming back. I’ve been living behind the traces of their existence since then for they are only the two persons who loved me, however lacking and default the circumstances is. Parents are expected to love their children, are they not? They don’t have a choice in the matter. If they did, they probably would not love me too.

There’s an area of our brain where both physical pain and heartbreak are interpreted as one. Literally, losing your parents is like losing a limb. I’ve lost two.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and I jolted awake. It was probably just another hallucination or my brain doing its routine crazy. I’ve been having them a lot these days.

“Stiles, wake up. You’re gonna be late,” Dad called out from the outside of my door.

I whimpered upon hearing his voice, surprised by how realistic it sounds. As if he is really outside my door. I almost bolted and ran for the knob, twisted it open to see my dad outside, wearing his Sheriff uniform and smelling of coffee. He would smile that sad smile of his, as if he’s always sorry, and then he’ll leave. I know fathers should do more than that, but I can’t blame him. I am not the easiest person to love. Not after what I did with mom. After asking for milk.

I’ve been hearing voices inside my head for some days now. My mom, my dad, or Jackson and my other bullies who’s a part of my life and I don’t have a choice over it. But their voices are often low, like they’re buried underground or hiding inside a speaker. But not as realistic as this. Maybe I’m getting crazier than I already am.

I stood, pulling the covers off me with effort. This is common now too, every move I make requires effort and I never seem to have the strength to do them. It’s like I’m in a constant state of tiredness and body malaise.

As soon as I get up I noticed the changes in my room; my wallpaper was blue and there’s posters and pictures everywhere. There’s also a giant board with faces of people I don’t know and colorful strings (green, red, and yellow) tied amongst them in what it seems like a pattern. I could study them and I’m sure I would discover the connections, but I should not.

The only good thing is when I noticed that my Aqualung CDs are finally completed. I never really found the first of his two albums, no matter where I went. (They are now at the opposite side of the bed, rather than parallel to it).

Who put this? I don’t even care. It would’ve been better if I woke up with a blade buried in my chest.

What happened, I don’t know. I don’t want to care. It’s creepy and weird, but who knows, maybe I could just really be getting crazier.

When I walked down and passed by the kitchen, there’s breakfast on the counter. Probably Peter, I thought. He has this crazy notion that he has to take care of me.

o0o

I was sitting in the cafeteria, unwrapping the cheap sandwich I bought. I can now freely think about all the weird things that happened today, and it’s not even over yet. My clothes (which are now twice the number than I remember having) are in varying colors (I don’t wear shirts with color). There’s only three black shirts - with statements and faces of people I don’t recall patronizing _ever_ \- and while there are still hoodies, gone are my favorite black ones. Since I never go out without one because of the scars in my arms, I forced myself into wearing the dark blue one. The breakfast, I’ve already mentioned. The house, though – redecorated and arranged like there’s a happy family living in there. The closest culprit who would dare do such horrid things is Peter, but then Peter never really did something like this before. He often says pretty things that are too optimistic for a 38-year old burn victim, but he’s never gone this far into getting involved in my life.

The casual fucks are my doing. It started a few months ago, probably, and despite his _Stiles stop you’re seventeen I don’t want to go to jail_ and _You don’t do this to your boss, alright?_ or _I’m a horrible person, you don’t want to do this with me_ he’s pretty much enthusiastic when it comes down to it.

So, he’s a lying stalker and I invited him over, once, but it would be the least of his interest to change my house like that.

The drive to school was weird too. I saw buildings and houses I don’t recall Beacon Hills having. I could’ve been driving in another town, but the Beacon Hills High School is here, so I decided I’m in the right place.

My first class with Coach Finstock was also weird, because when he asked me a question and I knew the right answer he _gaped._ At the middle of our class he shouted at me saying _Stiles stop fidgeting in my class_ when I was doing nothing. In fact five seconds later he said _oh you’re not fidgeting._

There were people in the classroom, too, which are presumably my classmates but I swear I’ve never seen them before. Lydia Martin who was sitting two chairs in front of me (As far as I remember she sat three chairs behind me) kept glancing at me. That was weird, too weird, because she looked all dolled up pretty as if she was running for Prom Queen. She would win, I reckon, if she keeps it like that.

This is the problem with me noticing everything. I notice everything and everyone around me, even though I act like I don’t. Even though I would rather not care about things, the frequency and intensity of the weird things happening today is not easy to ignore.

“Dude, we were sitting there,” someone told me while I ate my sandwich. “Why are you sitting alone?”

At first, I thought that I was mistaken for another person. Why would I care if they, whoever they were, is sitting over there? And why would they care if I was sitting alone? I’ve always did and no one cared.

“Stiles?” he asked again.

I looked up at him, wondering who was asking because I knew that voice somewhere in the past, knew the way my name would come out of his voice like he’s been saying it all the time. Scott McCall, of course. The only friend I’ve ever had.

When life started being shit and my mom died I stopped coming over his house, and he stopped coming over to mine. He tried to be friends with me again a year later, but I never stopped grieving my mother’s death and blaming myself for it. I punched him in the face. The first and last time I ever punched someone, and it was my friend.

He grew up well, though. He always had this circle of really cool people and a beautiful girlfriend. He was also a player of the La Crosse team. Though he never made fun of me, unlike his team members.

I took another bite of the sandwich, purposely ignoring him. I’ve known since I was ten that ignoring people, bullies or not, is the best way to be left alone.

I was expecting him to be angry and say _Did you just not hear what I said_ like what Jackson usually does but instead, he sat opposite to me with a confused look.

“Hey. What’s the matter? Why aren’t you sitting with us?” He asked, eyes pleading.

I was confused, so I gave him that. I raised a brow, which I don’t do because it would mean I care.

I stared at him for a full minute and he stared back, his expression changing from confused to worried.

I stood without finishing my sandwich, grabbed my bag, and walked out.

“Stiles! Wait!” I heard him shout. I could see people looking at me, murmuring as if what happened was new. It was not, because I always walk out when someone’s bullying me. Of course I get followed and pushed against the lockers or get beaten up in the hallways but I don’t fight back. I don’t have the strength to, or the will.

This was no different, because as soon as I exited the cafeteria he was grabbing my shoulder and forcibly turning me around.

“You don’t walk out from me like that,” he said in a commanding voice, almost growling, his eyes glowing red. I usually don’t get surprised with anything in this life, but this one did.

It scared me. Seeing my expression he shook his head, and then at the blink of his eyes the red were gone. “Sorry,” he said. “Stiles, I hate it when you walk out from me, you know that. We promised never to do that with each other. The Alpha instinct of my wolf reacted. I’m sorry for using my Will unnecessarily. I know you hate that.”

He said too much, too soon, so I took some steps back and bolted.

Promised what? I never promised him anything. We’re not friends. I don’t have any friends. Alpha instinct of his wolf? Is he crazy?

Before I even managed to get out of the school someone threw himself at me with so much force that it sent us rolling on the ground. When we stopped I was not hurt, miraculously, and then I realized he was holding me in a protective hug and he landed on the ground first so he’d be hurt instead of me.

“Stiles fucking stop. God. Stop running away from me,” he said, almost begging. “What is wrong with you?”

I pushed away from him, noticing how the tiny abrasions in his face is slowly but visibly fading, healing.

I stood up, wincing at the scrapes in my elbow. “Stop following me! I don’t know what you want, okay? But stop. Why are your eyes glowing red? Why are you healing so fast?”

He looked like I punched him in the gut. Soon, I saw people running towards us, some I know, some I don’t.

“Are you okay?” An Asian girl and another boy, probably a first year, ran to Scott’s side and helped him up. Lydia ran to me.

“Stiles what happened? Why did you walked out like that?” She asked.

“Why would I not? He was harassing me. And why do you care?”

“Harassing you?!” Scott says, incredulous. “Dude I was just asking why you were sitting alone.”

I scoffed. “Why would I not be~”

“Stop using Old English. It’s weird,” Lydia interrupts.

I’m done. “I don’t know any of you, okay? Leave me alone.”

They all looked at me with shocked and confused faces.

“Are you, like, joking right now?” The freshman-looking boy asked. “Cause I get that you’re a funny guy, but this isn’t funny, man.”

Lydia walked closer to me and touched my arm. I jerked away immediately, not missing the hurt on her face. This is why I hate dealing with people.

“I’m not joking, you are the ones making joke. This isn’t really the classic way of making fun of people, but you really got me there. I don’t know what you all want,”

I saw them exchange look with each other, and before they start laughing or whatever I turned away.

“Stiles~” it was the Asian, her arm wrapped around Scott’s. New girlfriend, maybe. I think I passed by him yesterday making out with Allison Argent at the lockers.

“Stop it,” I snapped, turning around. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me, any of you.”

I looked at them one by one, making sure my anger is drilled in their brains. They all looked confused and crestfallen, and while Scott’s looking quite pitiful like a kicked puppy, I turned around and walked away.

I didn’t know where to go. Home is safest place to be, but seeing all the changes in it I’m not quite sure.

This is all weird. I want to not care, but it’s difficult. Those guys have been talking to me like they know me, even friends with me. Scott had crazy eyes and he healed _really_ fast. Lydia is all dolled up.

My phone rang, and when I reached for it in my bag I was holding an iPhone. I never had an iPhone. Dad died too early to buy me one, and we’re not rich. I looked at the name of the person calling; Sourwolf/Failwolf. I would’ve asked what kind of name is that, but I didn’t have to because a picture of the caller shows up. I’ve seen him around Beacon Hills, and Peter’s told me about him too. I know that he despises his uncle so much, but aside from that I don’t know anything about him. But why would he have my number? And why would I call him those names and have a picture of him looking all sour?

Of course. This is not my phone.

I threw it at the other passenger seat, making sure it’s muted. I stayed inside my Jeep until the bell rang and next period started. I wanted to go home badly and hide under my covers, and sleep and never wake up. There are so many ways to just end this. I even have the materials in my room. When Morell diagnosed me with Clinical Depression and gave me prescription drugs I bought the whole bottle, thinking to drink it all at once when I get home. But each time I drown in sadness, and everything is black and white and I feel so alone, I hear my mother’s voice speaking to me, a few nights before she disappeared.

“Stiles, I want you to finish your studies, alright? That’s the greatest gift you will ever give to me and your father. Just be a good kid, okay? And your father is not angry with you. He’s just a bit…sad. But if you keep doing well maybe you could win him over. Do you promise?” she asked me with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

I promised.

That was probably just a mother talking to her nine-year old, but when she died and Dad distanced himself even more I held on to her words. That if I become a good boy and do well in my studies I will win Dad over. So even though life was being shit I did my best to be on top of the class. Even when I grew old enough to want better things than to have my father’s affection, I still did well in class.

When Dad died there was no reason for me to study well. But I still did, for mom.

That promise has been my only anchor all this time. The only thing keeping me sane and alive. But after I graduate, after finishing my studies just like what she asked, maybe I will finally have the courage to end things. Or start a life with Peter, like what he suggested. Somewhere faraway.

o0o

By the time I went home I was freaking out, full force. Scott and his friends didn’t leave me alone. They were literally everywhere, hiding from view as if I won’t notice them. I also had another confrontation with Lydia, but she didn’t made sense and we ended up both frustrated.

Things are just so crazy that the moment my class ended I ran for the door, past the busy hallways, directly to my Jeep. I would like to just hide in my room, but I still have to work so I would have money to buy Chinese takeaways and survive.

It was almost a relief thinking that I would see Peter at work and talk to him and tell him how bizarre my day has been. He’s the only person I’ve been talking to since my father died. And maybe, when the shop closes at 8PM I’ll stay behind and go to his office where he’s seated as if he’s doing business, but the truth is he’s waiting for me. Then he will refuse a bit, try to talk himself into stopping me while I unzip his pants. He’s usually far gone by the time he’s inside my mouth.

And I loved the excitement and the feeling that I’m doing something wrong, and maybe a little bit smug too that Peter is treating me way a lot better than my coworkers, and they’re jealous. That sometimes when they’re busy working their ass off serving customers I’m under Peter’s desk and serving my boss.

And thinking about it almost made me calm, knowing that there’s someone waiting for me and things can be normal. But when I went to Peter’s pizza house, there was no Peter’s pizza house. Standing in the place where my workplace should have been is a coffee shop, with staff and owner I never knew. I’ve been crying since then.

“Stiles?” a very familiar voice asked. I looked up, not bothering to wipe my tears.

Dad. Looking so alive and well. Healthy, even.

“Scott called me. He said something’s wrong and~”

I ran and wrapped my arms around him so tight before he can disappear, before my brain tells me he’s supposed to be dead. Before I realize this is just another hallucination because I’m sad and crazy that way.

But he was real. I can feel him, his arms wrapping around me as well.

“Oh Stiles…what happened?”

I was shaking and I was calling his name and holding him so tight so he won’t disappear. He didn’t. We stayed like that for five minutes, his gentle words cooing me and telling me “it’s alright” and “I’m not leaving”

“You’re alive, Dad” I repeated for the hundredth time, touching him again.

“Why? What do you remember?” he asked later.

“You were missing. You were out patrolling in the woods and then you never returned. I’ve been waiting ever since, Dad. I knew Deputy Parrish was lying, I knew your were alive,”

He was looking at me and even though he tried not to I can see that he’s confused, the creases in his forehead showing.

“When did this happen, Stiles?”

“Three years ago,” I replied, sniffing. His face changed a lot, but I like it. He’s so alive and healthy and I won’t be alone anymore~

I hugged him again and started crying.

When I stopped I was exhausted from all the distress and feeling of relief. This day may have been stressing, but at least Dad’s home. He guided me to the kitchen and made me sit, because I was still in a daze to do so myself. He said he will cooked dinner, and even though the worry in his face never left, I was happy and contented watching him move around. The house has never been as alive as it is right now.

We ate in silence, him asking random questions from time to time and I relented because he’s been gone for three years and things happened without him. I started worrying too when I asked about what happened to him and why he disappeared, and he said nothing, just looked at me as if he’s about to cry.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, son. Sleep first.”

He even guided me back to my room. And it made sense now, because maybe he changed the wallpapers and brought that big board over. I’ll ask him tomorrow.

“Do you know what happened to Peter’s Pizza Place, dad? I went over there just this afternoon. But it’s gone,” I asked him as he was tucking me in. I just let him, let the daze of happiness cloud my rational thoughts and just take him in. Dad is alive.

“Tomorrow, bud.” He said.

“Don’t leave, Dad,” I asked him, voice sounding small even in my own ears. “I want to wake up and you’re still here.”

He nodded. I grabbed his hands and held on to it tightly, as if I’m never letting go.

I was slowly starting to drop into unconsciousness when I heard Dad made a call. I would’ve listened carefully but I was strangely tired after the long day.

“…he’s gotten all the facts wrong.”

“…he doesn’t know you, Scott. Or any of your pack. Yes, even Derek. But god he knows Peter.”

“…he thinks it’s August 1, 2011. That’s a year behind and you don’t want me to freak out? He thought I was dead for fuck’s sake!”

“…I’m bringing him over there tomorrow. We need to figure this out.”

I heard all of them but my head was clouded with sleepiness that I wasn’t able to process anything.

All I know is that my Dad’s alive and he kissed my forehead goodnight.

o0o

I woke up sometime in the night. I glanced at the clock, thankful it’s still in the same place, and checked the time. 10:00 PM.

So, Dad’s gone. Maybe it was all a dream. Or another hallucination. I’m really getting crazy.

A cold wind brushes over my face, and I looked over the window and saw it was open. And then I felt someone watching me, a shadow, and when he moved closer to the light I gasped.

Derek Hale.

I wanted to scream, but that was really not my thing. If he wanted to murder me, he can. I saw my Dad and I was the happiest today than I’ve ever been this past three years, anyway. I could die.

He inched closer, his gaze intense. I closed my eyes, waiting for the kill.

And then he kissed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, just in case you're really confused I'm throwing this now: There are two Stiles and there are two parallel worlds. Sounds familiar? If you've watched the series Fringe and fell in love with Olivia Dunham, well we're on the same page. This story is something like that. Quite.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE KUDOS AND THE COMMENTS I AM SO HAPPY READING AND NOTICING THEM. IT'S A CANDY BAR EACH TIME. I LOVE YOU ALL.
> 
> I have a tumbr: http://shippingbullshitandwerewolves.tumblr.com/


	5. Genim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hohoho. I finished my outline for this fic last night. I'm so excited! I have so many plot twists and surprises for you all! *evil grin*
> 
> I changed the summary, tags, and chapter titles. (This might be the last changes in this fic because I'm pretty solid with the plot and outline now. If ever there will be future changes, they will be minor.) 
> 
> Warnings: Depression, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Underage Sex, Mentions of Self-Harm

When his lips touched mine I was so shocked that all I managed was a muffled whimper. Derek must’ve mistaken it for a reaction because he further cupped my face in his hands, angling our faces just right for a deeper kiss. When I felt his tongue trying to intrude, however, my mind recollected itself. I pushed him away, hard.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I yelled, swiftly wiping my mouth with my arms while looking at him with daggers. He is a sloppy kisser.

For all that’s worth it he was the one who had the balls to look confused and offended.

“Stiles?” was all he managed to say.

“Get the fuck out, you creep!”

I don’t understand. Why would Derek Hale be climbing through my window to kiss me? Or did he wanted more? Perhaps Peter told him of my advances. I know I’ve been acting all naughty and desperate for my boss but I can’t believe he would rat me out like this. I mean I’ve only been doing those things to him why would he~

“Stiles is everything all right?” He asked, voice sounding concerned.

This day’s weird apparently hasn’t ended. I’m starting to have a really bad headache.

“I am fucking alright but everything else won’t fucking stop being fucking crazy. Why are you still inside my room? Do you want me to call the police?”

He opened his mouth and advanced a few steps. The movement sent me scrambling further away, gripping at my bed covers tight and holding it close. “Stay away from me!”

Suddenly the door of my room sprang open and Dad came in, still wearing his Sheriff uniform. He looked briefly at Derek but ran towards me first, concern washing over his face.

I knew he loved me. He’s been keeping it to himself all these years and didn’t know how to show it, but I was right because he loved me. Loves me.

“What’s wrong Stiles? What happened?” He asked. I wrapped my arms around his torso and hugged him tight.

“You’re really alive, Dad. You’re really here,” I mumbled, mostly to myself. I thought it was just a dream. That I was literally losing my mind and everything is weird because I’m losing my shit and I’m a few days away from getting admitted at Eichen House.

“I’m here son. I’m not leaving,” he assured me, rubbing my back comfortably.

“What’s happening to him?” I heard Derek ask and I can’t believe he’s still here. My father is the police. He will definitely go to jail.

“He’s…confused. Wait, what are _you_ doing here?” Dad asked curiously. There’s a bit of acid in there too. Yeah, what is he doing here?

“What is he doing here, Stiles? What did he do to you?”

I looked up at him and then at Derek. I wanted to be embarrassed but what the hell. “He kissed me. Went through the window and kissed me.”

Dad gasped as Derek opened and closed his mouth like a fish being deprived of water.

“I can explain, John.”

“You better do because I am always armed with wolfsbane,” Dad warned.

“What’s happening to him? Why is he like this?” Derek tried again, exasperated. I don’t know if he’s asking because it’s important or he just wanted to change the topic.

“Don’t change the topic, Hale”

“I will get to that. But aren’t you concerned why is he being like this?”

I looked at him venomously. “I am being like this because you barged in through my window and started sexually harassing me.”

Dad tensed, “Since when has he been doing this?”

Derek stepped forward and looked at me, his eyes almost pleading. “Stiles, stop. We do this every night, remember?”

“What?!” Dad and I asked at the same time.

“I come here every night, at 10PM and we…we…we do things,”

“What, read him bed time stories and sing him to sleep?” Dad asked, reaching for his gun.

“Sheriff, calm down! I’m being honest. I will explain, I promise. But this isn’t the most important thing to discuss right now. You know that.”

Dad paused, considering Derek’s word. “I was planning to bring him to Deaton tomorrow.”

Deaton? The town’s vet?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asked.

“Why should I? What is your relationship with my seventeen-year old son, exactly?”

“This can’t wait until tomorrow, John. I’m calling Scott and we’re going to Deaton’s,” Derek replied, his fingers already calling numbers. He shot me another worried look and waited as the phone rang.

Why have I been hearing Scott’s name since this morning?

But Dad didn’t take Derek’s bullshit either. “Why don’t you answer me first, Hale. What have you been doing with my son?”

“I can’t answer properly if Stiles’ like this, okay? Not without sounding like I was taking advantage of him, which I’m not. So we need to deal with what’s happening with Stiles first, and deal with this later,” Derek replied, final. I wonder when he had the right to talk to my father like that.

I wanted to care whatever’s happening to me, because I know that there is. But Dad is beside me and I’m touching him and he’s not pushing me away and I can’t really care about anything than that. I fear that when I start caring, start asking questions and start being rational I will remember that Dad died three years ago, and he’s not supposed to be here.

I closed my eyes tightly, fighting away thoughts. Better hold on to this, while it’s still here. Deal with things and reality later.

o0o

“Stiles what’s the last thing you remember before waking up this morning?” The veterinarian asked with a focused look on his face. And while I wonder why I’m surrounded by people I hardly know and laying out my concerns to to a vet, I’ll agree he is quite a compelling therapist.

I’ve dealt with a quite a few of them for some time. My first therapist when I was ten all but gave me prescription meds that I took but didn’t work, just made me feel like I’m walking around in zombieland. There were two others then, who seemed dedicated in their works but not quite enough.

Ms. Morell, our school councilor, was by far the nearest to helpful that I had, because she didn’t ponder with my past the way others did. She wanted to understand my holistic nature, not just the fact that I lost my mom when I was nine and I blamed myself for it and my Dad disappeared when I was fourteen.

It’s probably not right to out-psyche my own psychiatrist, but I usually get them figured out the moment they ask their first three questions. And I know the right answers, too, just so things will end up the way I want it to be.

Ms. Morell was different. And though she diagnosed me like everyone else she told me something that others didn’t. That sometimes sadness doesn’t need reason. It just creeps inside you and drowns you in your own thoughts until you reach breaking point. That it has hands of its own that wraps around your throat until you’re suffocated. And that the hands are sometimes your own.

This veterinarian, though he’s only asked me his first question, has the same aura as Ms. Morell. Like there’s power inside them. Like most of the people inside the room, except for me and my Dad.

My Dad. He’s here, and he’s beside me. I wouldn’t have agreed being interrogated like this and stared at like a freak show by Scott and Lydia and the others, but Dad convinced me it was for the best. And that I have to trust him.

That’s the first time Dad asked me for anything, and even though I’m terrified, I had to oblige.

“I remember,” Something flickered in my mind. And I remember something, a bright light and flickers of images and voices. Then it’s gone before I can process it. “The last thing I remember,” I said, wondering if I should keep it PG. The last time I saw him he was fingering me, asking me to come without touching myself, “is having a chat with Peter Hale.”

The others visibly shudder, Lydia looking pained and Scott looking away. Kira and Liam, both who introduced themselves as soon as I walked in with my Dad, both looked uncomfortable. I glanced at Derek, who kept gazing at me so intense that it’s creepy, also looked away.

“Stiles, Peter Hale has been at the Eichen House since the Benefactor incident. That was almost five months ago. He attempted to steal the True Alpha power from Scott,” Deaton explained.

I shook my head quickly. “You don’t make sense at all,” Benefactor? True Alpha power?

Noticing my confusion, he asked. “Why don’t you tell me what you don’t understand from what I have explained,”

“Everything you just said. Why would Peter steal anything? He’s quite rich and he’s my boss. And what Benefactor incident? Is that like a loan shark or something?”

“Stiles, do you know about him being a werewolf?”

Here I thought he was like Ms. Morell. He’s nuts. “Are you being serious?”

“Stiles, I want you to stay calm and take everything slowly. If it feels too much to process, we’ll stop. But you have to open your mind so we can know what’s going on.”

I looked at Dad, who smiled encouragingly despite the worried creases on his forehead.

“Okay.”

o0o

“…Alpha means the leader of the pack. Scott is your Alpha. Betas are the werewolf members of the pack. Though a pack doesn’t necessarily have to be composed of werewolves. Lydia here, is a Banshee. Kira is a Kitsune. You, Stiles, is a druid in training~”

“Can we go home now?” I interrupted, not caring if I was being rude. My head is pounding with all the information they’re feeding me. They’re unfathomable, even though I’ve seen Scott, Liam and Kira transformed in front of my own eyes.

Everything I literally know, everything I believed in, is crumbling in pieces in front of me. And it scares me so much, because I don’t know what to believe.

We’ve been going on for almost an hour, them answering my questions and discussing as many things as they can as possible.

Dad shook his head “Stiles you have to listen~”

“Dad, he said mom died while giving birth to me!” I exclaimed, at the brink of tears. “He said you never disappeared and I was possessed by this evil fox and that I’m pack or whatever with this all this…were-animals!”

Dad advanced forward, “Son calm down~”

“And you’re dead!” I shouted exasperatedly “You were supposed to be dead. You left me and you blamed me for mom’s death.”

“Stiles I’m here, okay? I never left. We’re here because we’re trying to change what you’re saying, because they’re not true. We are trying to correct things,”

I looked at him and tears started pouring. “You want to change things? You want me to correct everything I know, everything that I know of that is real? I’m going crazy here, dad. I know you rarely cared but I can’t take this, this is too much.”

“Okay,” Dad nodded quickly. “We’re not forcing you, we’re just…all of us are upset.”

Lydia stopped biting her nails and smiled at me apologetically, “We’re all really worried about you Stiles. We have to know what’s wrong so we can do something with it. Things like this happen a lot in Beacon Hills, not exactly the same as this situation, but under the same category.”

The category of weird. I would know.

_Crazy. This is all crazy._

“I think it’s best if you take Stiles home first, Sheriff,” Deaton says encouragingly.

I leapt off the counter and went for the exit.

o0o

It was 3AM by the time we went home, and although I was extremely tired I didn’t fell asleep immediately. Dad tucked me in again, and even though I don’t want him to disappear I’m still upset and pretty much occupied in my own thoughts that I didn’t made him stay and hold my hands.

I just prayed he would still be here in the morning. Alive.

There’s something immensely wrong, I can feel it. Everything, actually. Even though I have been quite suspecting that I’m getting crazy, it’s mostly hyperbole, just so I could put into words how overwhelming life is. But I’m still sane enough to remember everything from my childhood.

I remember mom raising me, even though most of the time she’s out in the hospital or reading strange books and locking herself in the basement doing God knows what.

I remember Dad going out for work and staying there most of the time. As if going home and seeing his family is the last thing he wanted to do.

I remember running in backyards with Scott; me wearing Superman costume and him wearing Batman and pretending we have superpowers, even though I’ve told him countless times that Bruce Wayne is mortal.

I remember mom’s death, and I thought it was the end of the world. I remember wanting to see her face, but Dad said she’s not recognizable and we have to cremate her. I didn’t really believed she’s dead. Not until I see her face in a coffin. I didn’t even cry and grieve properly when they scattered her ashes in the Beacon Hills preserve, because that can’t be my mom. I waited for another week for her, refusing to cry and be a baby because she’s coming back. When she didn’t, I ran. I went to the preserve where they scattered mom’s ashes and buried my face on the ground, inhaling the smell of wet grass and getting soaked in a summer rain. I think I haven’t stopped crying since then. Inside, at least.

Scott tried to be a good friend and invited me to play Batman, but I was still grieving and Dad can’t deal with being sober. One particularly drunk night he’s even gone as far as telling me I’m not his son and it’s mine and his fault that Mom died, and I can’t help but agree. So when Scott wanted me to be Superman and pretend we have superpowers, I didn’t feel like it. Heroes save people, not bring them to their demise.

These memories is as clear as daylight, I can remember every detail and every emotion imbibed with them. I don’t know why Dad and the people here are insisting that I’m wrong, that things are different. I looked around my room, seeing the posters and the board and some other things that I can’t recognize having. This isn’t me.

The door opened and Dad peered in, smiling when he saw me awake. “Just checking if you’re alright,” he said and I wanted to cry. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Genim,” I paused. “You and mom call me Genim.”

He nodded.

o0o

I woke up the next day, hoping to see my wallpaper with the right color but it’s not. It’s still blue, and everything is still not the way they should be. When I moved from the bed I felt stronger, faster. I still feel tired and sluggish somewhere, but those are just signs of my depression.

Showering today, I noticed things I didn’t noticed yesterday, maybe because I didn’t care. I have purple bruises everywhere especially in my hips, and kiss marks in my collarbone and inner thighs. I look battered, but the type that would usually make me flush. I would have; but my scars are gone. My arm is fresh as new as well as my outer thighs, both are places where I usually do self-harm when my thoughts are spiraling out of control.

I noticed I looked healthy, too. My skin is milky white and baby smooth, and I don’t look too skinny as if an indication that I didn’t lived off Chinese takeaways.

I had to check my face in the mirror to see if I still look the same. I did, minus all the sleep-deprived eyes and hollowed cheeks.

When I went down the kitchen the table was already prepared, and while I am used to visions and hallucinations of my Dad, seeing him like this – alive and in flesh – still made me take a step back.

“Dad?” I called, unsure.

He turned around and smiled. Not the sad smile either. Genuine, like he’s enjoying his time and looking forward for a beautiful day.

“I made these, just for a change. Because usually it’s you who prepare our breakfast. All healthy – by the way. You’re too paranoid because I’m in the age range to have Coronary Artery Disease,” he said.

We ate in partial silence, me just staring and taking him in and watching the way he speaks. We never did this before. Usually he eats fast as if he can’t wait to get out of the house.

“We’re going to Deaton’s again, this afternoon.” He announced after we ate.

“But Dad~”

“You know something’s wrong, Stiles. I know you do.”

I would’ve commented him calling me Stiles, not Genim. Because only other people call me Stiles. But this is good, too. Anything that means that Dad is happy and alive is good.

“Okay.”

When I walked out of the house I was smiling because that was the best morning ever. I was surprised when I saw Scott standing beside my jeep.

“Hey,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re my ride,” He said. He didn’t wait for my reply and climbed inside the jeep. “Everyday.”

At lunch Scott and Kira waited outside my classroom, ushering me to the table where Lydia and Liam were sitting. This is Pack, according to Deaton. In high school we call it circle of friends or clique. But I guess when you’re composed of werewolves and foxes and banshees, Pack is more fitting.

These supernatural - though I am surprised to actually see them with my own eyes - I have been suspecting them ever since forever. I know Beacon Hills have secrets. If someone takes the mysterious animal attacks as the explanation for every death and murder in our town, they’re choosing the blind eye. I just didn’t expect them to be my school mates.

“We need to figure out what’s happening to Stiles, and then we’ll prepare for the trip to Lassen Volcano so Parrish can replenish his powers,” I heard Scott was saying. He’s the True Alpha, if I’m correct.

“We have to do them simultaneously,” Lydia said pointedly. “Parrish needs it. Or else he’ll die.”

“But will Stiles even agree to go with us? He doesn’t remember anything about us. And he’s basically human right now. He has no druidic powers too.” Kira said helpfully. Though I feel irked being talked about like I’m not here.

“He has power though,” Lydia said. “I can feel it. There’s…there’s something else too. But I’ll say it later at Deaton’s. My point is he’s not as weak as we think.”

“I’m kinda here,” I said. “So………yeah. I’m here. You talk to me, not about me.”

“Sorry,” Scott says, with the expression and all. “Are you fine with that? Going to Lessen Peak with the Pack?”

They all looked at me, waiting for an answer. I don’t know. They seem convinced that I’m part of their pack.

“Honestly, I’m just going by how things are…happening. Like Scott riding with me to school and sitting here with you. Because as far as I remember, until the day before yesterday, I was alone. You all seem to think that I’m just forgetting things, but I’m not. I know things, it’s just that it’s not the same with this…with this place.”

They all nodded.

“That’s why we’re going to find help. Whatever you have in mind, whatever you know and remember, they’re wrong. This could be just an evil plot of someone so they can weaken our pack. You’re our future Emissary, Stiles. You’re powerful and you’re a threat. So they’re targeting you,” Lydia said. “We just need to figure it out. Together.”

“And while we do all that, you have to sit with us. You’re not sitting alone and we’re not letting you out of our sight. You get that buddy?” Scott says.

“Yeah. Okay,” I said. Because what’s the harm? This is what Dad wants, after all.

I looked out through the window and sees a Camaro parked over the street. Derek Hale is leaning to it, arms crossed, leather jackets, and creepy intense stares.

“Derek is part of your Pack, right?” I asked.

“Our pack,” Liam corrected. I didn’t even noticed he was here. “Why?”

“He’s creepily staring at us outside the window. And he barged inside my room the other night. He kissed me. With tongue,” I whispered so only us can hear.

“He can hear you,” Kira says, suppressing a smile. “Superhearing, remember?”

“Oh,” I said. “Hi Derek.”

I saw Derek smile.

“He chuckled,” Scott said helpfully. Lydia was smiling too.

“HAHA. I knew you guys were boning. You reek of each other every day,” Liam laughed, and Lydia elbowed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapters comments are really fun to read! I enjoyed them so much. They make me really happy. And the kudos *melts*. 
> 
> I have a tumblr: http://shippingbullshitandwerewolves.tumblr.com/


	6. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update! You know, holidays. (I am studying at a uni and residing at a dormitory, and I went home to my family last December, and even though I wanted to write an update my family is demanding for my attention and I obliged. Duties.)
> 
> OMG I HAVE WRITTEN THE PAST FIVE CHAPTERS IN PAST TENSE WHAT THE HELL. This is also the reason why I haven't updated, because I'm so ashamed of the fact that I dubiously wrote the story in past tense when it should be, in every sense, in present tense. (The truth is, I am most trained in writing in past tense, and I was too scared to try going out of my comfort zone that I made this terrible mistake.) 
> 
> So, in the next few days I might change the previous chapters into present tense, and the next chapters will also be written in that format. 
> 
> If anything, this chapter is slightly longer than the previous ones to make up for my absence. 
> 
> And HAVE SOME ANGST, EVERYONE. I realize now that this fic is laced with angst. Like a lot of it.

"Now that we have laid out a tentative plan," Erica stands from the couch, dusting away something invisible from her skirt and smiling at her Alpha. "Let's continue where we left off and watch New Moon."

That earns different kinds of growls. The loudest of which can be from Jackson, though not unexpectedly.

Erica rolls her eyes, and I almost copy her. "Oh come on it's not that bad! I've read the books. It gets better after the first book," she exclaims.

Boyd chuckles in the background but when Erica turns and glares at him, he immediately composes himself and clears his throat. "Well we managed to suffer through Twilight. Nothing can possibly be any worse than that."

"This is actually still Twilight. Just part 2," Scott informs him with a grin. "And besides, the first one wasn't that bad. I actually liked it."

Jackson snorts and rubs his nose. "'Course you did."

Allison turns, her hair whipping, and faces him with a huntress' glare. "Why is Twilight so revolting to you? It's not like your willy loses an inch each time you see Robert Pattinson."

We all laughed, I mostly because of Jackson's face. He glares back at her, though with much lesser intensity than the last time I remember it to be. 

Right. Because they're Pack. They can never really hate each other despite their differences. Even though Pack Dynamics is an elaborate structure and it took me one whole day to wrap my head around all the concepts when I was in training, there's one basic principle underlying all of it: Pack is family. A different kind, one laced with instinct and bonds that can never be truly understood by humans, unless they experience it first-hand.

"We don't want that, do we, Derek?" She smiles at him teasingly. "All of Jackson's body parts must remain intact."

I flinch, and at some time and some place I would've paid to see the expression Jackson is wearing, his face flush with embarrassment as he's teased by the thing-that-no-one-dare-talk-about-but-everyone-know-about, except Derek was looking all smug, arms crossed but barely holding a smile.

I must have been staring for too long because Derek glances at me. I look away quickly.

"Oh shut it," Derek huffs, un-crossing his arms and walking towards the kitchen. "I won't even pretend I don't like the movie, because no matter how ridiculous the writer's notion about vampires is, I won't hate just because everyone does. Now will someone help me make food?"

The others make agreeing sounds except Jackson who rolls his eyes.

"I will!" Scott chimes in, looking after Derek like he was Buddha who just enlightened him. He stands and faces me with a dimpled smile. "That - is our big wise Alpha," he bows dramatically. Isaac kicks him, sending him scrambling towards the kitchen. Erika tiptoes to the living room and scavenge the CD rack for New Moon.

Only when they were gone did the fact that they've been watching Twilight fully sinked in. I laughed a little too late, earning questioning looks from the remaining audience.

"Sorry. Just. Werewolves watching a vampire movie," I wrap my arms around my stomach to stop myself from convulsing. "And not to mention _Twilight_." There are tears too, probably.

"I told you it's funny," Jackson mutters to Boyd who just shrugs and nudges his shoulder.

Allison sprawls on the couch and rests her long legs on top of Isaac's lap. "Erica's been wanting to watch it with us ever since forever. She keeps talking about it every Friday Pack Meeting."

I squint my eyes at her, "You mean discussing Twilight is part of your agenda at Pack Meetings?

Isaac starts massaging Allison's foot, and she visibly melts as he puts pressure in a sensitive knot. "We watch movies after discussing the serious stuffs. Pack bonding, Derek calls it."

I nod apprehensively. It's actually a good strategy to strengthen the pack's bond, and how Derek managed to come up with the idea will forever be mystery to me. Even as an emissary, I probably will never come up with the idea of using Friday movie nights for pack bonding.

"That's really nice," I remark.

Boyd starts repositioning the sofa so that it faces the television. "What do you remember about us, since you said you remember things differently?"

Jackson also starts laying out comforters and pillows onto the floor, while Isaac continues petting Allison's foot.

I refrain myself from saying, _oh, you died. Allison died. Erica died. Jackson is in London. Isaac hasn't returned._

"Really different," I simply say. "It's...like a completely different life."

"That must be hard," Isaac looks at me as he continue his massage.

I purse my lip and shake my head. "You have no idea." I look towards the direction of the kitchen where I can hear Derek and Scott shuffling around. "People are at arm’s length yet I cannot reach them."

When Derek and Scott comes back with some popcorn and homemade pizza, the others gather in the sofa and settle in their own comfortable positions. They look so comfy and cute - an entanglement of limbs and extremities and no one caring who's on top of who.

"Is he staying?" Jackson turns his head and looks at me, the back of his head resting above Erica's stomach and thighs pressed against Scott.

Only after he asked did I realize that I'm the odd one out, too caught up observing the way they interacted with one another to remember that I'm not supposed to be here.

The others must've been startled as well because they turn their heads and scramble.

"Shit. Sorry man. I totally forgot you were there," Scott apologizes.

"You should stay," Allison glances quickly at her Alpha. "He can stay, right?"

"He's not pack," Erika reminds everyone. "You're trusting him too much, too soon."

And I should stop being butthurt each time there's something like this but she has a point. I'm a stranger to them, and even though I know them, it's not entirely true because things are different.

"He can stay if he want," Derek says.

"No, thank you, I need to leave anyway," I stand, putting the Bestiary in the table. Allison said I can’t bring it home because her Dad will look for it, but I can borrow it again tomorrow if I needed to. Of course I do. "I still need to figure out things and plan what to say to Lydia tomorrow."

"Wait, I'll go with you outside," Scott lifts his upper torso to stand but Derek places a palm against his chest, stopping him.

"Stay. I'll walk him out," Derek says with a tone that basically dictates that arguments are not welcome. "You can start the movie without me."

o0o

We were both silent on the way out. Even by the time we reach my Jeep Derek still hasn't spoken a word that I suspect he hated New Moon with abandon.

"I think we're out of werewolf earshot now," he finally says.

"Oh. I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought you were just a pretentious shit who claims not hating Twilight but actually would rather walk a stranger in complete silence than spend minutes watching Stewart's stoic act."

He looks at me like he's confused, and then smiles. Actually smiles. He really isn't my Derek.

"I don't hate Twilight," he reiterates.

“Convince yourself."

He chuckles. "Seriously. I'm trying not to be one of those people who hates just because. The story isn't that bad, really."

"False. You're actually trying not to hate because you're mingling with teenagers and you want to set clear that you're maturer than them. Maturer-wait, sorry. They're still working on making that word official."

He raises a brow with a dignified smirk. Derek Hale is beautiful. That is law. "So you're saying you know me better than I know myself?"

"I know you," I say and my breath catches in my throat.

_I know the way your lashes flutter when they're sleepy. I know how rough your stubble feels against my skin and I know the smell of your aftershave. And you like to kiss a lot._

His smile falters. "Your heartbeat spiked. Why?"

I felt my cheeks color into a ripe tomato, and I don't think I can deal with the impending set of questions so, "Because I lied."

His brow remain furrowed but he doesn't say anything.

I clear my throat. "Why did you walk me here? Don't say you're just being a hospitable host, because you're not. You threatened me first thing when you arrived, remember?"

He smirks and he has to stop doing those things. "You are a judgmental person," he sounds amused. "I threatened you because you used magic to my pack."

"You are being a judgmental person by saying I'm a judgmental person," I snort.

"And are you always this talkative?"

"No. I just like riling you up."

Oh God. Did I just really say that? Stupid mouth. Stupid stupid.

"Now you're flirting."

Dead. I'm dead.

"You flirted first," I say because it's the only way out

He laughed and good. That's good. This is all funny.

"You've been reeking of attraction and nervousness ever since we walked out of the loft. Why is that, Stiles?"

"And you reek of blatant and disdainful haughtiness. Why did you walk me out?"

He pushes his hands inside the pocket of his jacket and looks pointedly at me, the smirk unmoving. He's finding all these banters amusing, when in another lifetime it makes his skin crawl. And if he's like this, if he's enjoying all of this, we won't be ripping each other's clothes any time soon. Not that I want to. He has Jackson for that. It's just that the fact that we frustrate each other bone-deep was the thing that lead us to...boning. And if that's missing, well. Yeah.

It leaves me feeling helpless. How did things become like this? How can I live with all these people and circumstances when they're not the way I have lived to see them to be. And still, the more important question that I haven't yet probed: can things still really turn back to the way they were? Can I really change this, this life that everyone in this place has just because it doesn't fit with mine?

Whatever the answer is, all I know is that I can't live like this. I just can't.

"I walked you out because you smell of Peter," he crosses his arms again. "I know he's your boss, and I don't have any concern with whatever it is you do with your boss, but Peter did terrible things to my Pack. He pleads partial insanity, but I still can't trust him."

I can't help but be self-conscious. I tried inhaling my own scent even though I’m sure I showered half-heartedly this morning.

"You mean, smell _smell_?" Because that's more important. If he doesn't trust me I don't blame him.

"Yes, you smell _smell_. Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

"No."

I keep my gaze on the ground, trying to process the information. Trying to mask the disgust and sudden loathing I feel even at just the idea. So, I smell of sex with Peter. Non-consensual, surely, because I would have to be dead five times before I will choose sex with that bastard.

If he's not such a sociopath like a teacher or a fireman probably who DOES find killing spree disturbing, I would maybe have - no no no I'm not going down that path.

"You don't remember?" Derek asks, eyes squinting like a self-proclaimed inquisitor.

"No. I will have to be dead first."

He nods, and for a moment he looks like he’s considering my answer. "Okay. But the thing is, you might or might not be a part of his elaborate and obviously evil schemes. We don't know. So I can't trust you."

I purse my lip. "I don't trust myself either."

o0o

The wind is chilly on my way home, the draft inside the jeep willing my tears to fall. I can't stop myself from being repulsed over the fact that I smell of Peter. Peter who's supposed to be securely locked in in the deepest portion of Eichen House where Beacon Hill’s craziest and deadliest monsters spend their wretched days. Peter who terrorized and manipulated my pack more than once.

And Derek was the one who noticed - the only person I would want to smell like and be scented with. I wonder how he managed to even look at me, knowing that I bedded with his sorry excuse of an uncle.

I want to convince myself that it wasn't me, that the fact that I don't remember anything about this place means something. But who else would it be? Is it even possible for there to be two worlds? One that fits with what I remember and this one, where everything is strange and I don't know where to place myself.

I stop myself from crying, because doing so would mean I acknowledge being defeated. And I can't do that. Doing so would mean I have given up on my Pack and that's the last thing I would do.

I reach for the phone (that is not my phone) and dial Peter's number.

"Stiles? I was just about to call you. You weren't at work again today."

I close my eyes and exhales. "If we are seeing each other, or if we are doing things that we shouldn't be doing to each other, we are going to end it. This is the last time we talk to each other. Ever. You get that?"

"Where are you?" He suddenly sounds serious. I can also hear some shuffling and pants being wore and keys being picked up.

"What? No. _No_. I'm not anywhere. I mean. Don't do whatever I think you're trying to do. Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

"But Stiles-"

"No. I'm hanging up."

I do so and throw the phone at the passenger seat. It rings a few seconds later, and I hoped it was Dad but it was just Peter so I ignore it. It still keeps on ringing though, and I want to block his number but this phone model doesn't have that feature yet. I miss my iPhone.

It's getting late but maybe I could visit Deaton first, see if he has gathered anything about my case.

When I arrive at his clinic, though, he gives me this look (brows furrowed and eyes squinted) and I know what he has to say. "I'm sorry Stiles, but I still don't have any solid explanation to this anomaly. Some of the druids I have contacted have responded but this is also new to them."

"So, nothing at all?"

He shakes his head. "But let me try something. I'm gonna ask you a few questions and you have to answer me truthfully based on what you remember."

I nod.

"Who is our President?"

"Obama."

"How many World Wars happened?"

"Two."

"Have same-sex marriage been approved in all states?"

"No."

“Can you give me at least one significant historical event in America?”

“9/11.”

“What of it?”

“The destruction of the Twin Towers, The Pentagon, and Pennsylvania.”

He looks at me for a moment and then takes a really deep breath.

"There's no person named Obama who ran for presidency last election. There are two world wars, yes. But same-sex marriage have been approved at all states almost a year ago. The greatest tragedy of 9/11 resulted in the partial collapse of the Pentagon, yes, but Twin Towers was not harmed. Also it was not Pennsylvania, but Washington D.C.”

The information sinks in slowly, like thick oil dripping off the edge of a kitchen counter. I stare at Deaton for one full minute before muttering "what?"

He levels his face with mine and looks me in the eye. "I know that's a lot to take in, but you have to calm down. You have to open your mind to every change you encounter, as you know things different. I will not say what you know is wrong, but it can't be the only right thing either. Do you know why, Stiles?"

I shake my head and tries to breathe slower.

"Focus, Stiles."

I try to gather my thoughts even though they're scary. "It means that I'm the only, sole factor that is questionable. Because I know things differently, and that means I’m the one who has a problem. That everything I literally know isn't the truth, not in this world, at least."

"Stiles-"

"I can't accept that, Deaton. You're saying that the life that I know of is just…a trick of my mind or just another witch curse. You’re saying that I’m wrong, that the life I’m talking about doesn’t exist. Didn’t exist. You’re saying that I have to accept this new life where everything is strange."

"I'm not saying anything. I'm saying you have to open your mind. Be ready to face this new world and its difference to the one you know. If you want answers, if you want to find your way back, you have to be strong."

I look at him because I recognize hints when I see one. "And then what?"

"I will help you, Stiles. I promise I will do my best. But I need you to do something for me in return."

"What? How?"

"My life force is dying. When a Darach came in Beacon Hills and started sacrificing people, it targeted me first and poisoned my life force so I would not intercede in her plans. You know what that means to us."

"You're losing your power," I look at him, and even though he is not the Deaton I know my brow creases in worry. He is a very powerful druid, a talented potion-maker and rune craftsman. Losing his life force would be a terrible waste.

"Yes. And as you know I am not a born druid like you. My power came from the home of the Elder Druids,"

"At Ynes Mon,"

"Yes. That's where you said I trained you, right?"

I nod. "It's where I got my first training. I was supposed to return,” my eyes widen at the point he’s making. “I could come with you and ask the Elder Druids myself!"

"Stiles I promise I will do that. I will even ask the most talented Seer I know and the Shamans of the North as well. But,"

"But what?"

"I need you to be the Emissary of the Hale Pack while I'm gone."

My eyes widen. "W-what?! That's..."

Life forces won't heal in a day. The gates of Ynes Mon only becomes visible every New Moon. If he leaves and I don’t come with him, I will have to wait another month for the gates to open.

"I will be gone for a month. You have to be their emissary. They will need a druid."

"I have to come with you! They can take care of themselves. They're a pack of werewolves with super abilities!"

He shakes his head. "I have long been suspecting that the disappearances are caused by the devas,"

"Fairies?"

"Not just fairies but Gwylions, Dryads, Nymphs, Trolls, Pixies, and some others. These nature beings are generally called the Devas – literally the beings of nature."

"But I thought they live in a different dimension? That's why humans can't see or live with them."

"Something or someone brought them here. They're bleeding through the fabric of our dimension at certain times and places. I myself saw a gnome yesterday in my missing neighbor's backyard, and it attacked me. It was rabid – bloodshot eyes and dripping saliva. I did a calming charm and the spell of undoing, and it turned back. It was confused, like it didn't knew what happened or what it was doing."

"So that means the residential devas of Beacon Hills have gone gaga and started attacking and taking humans?"

He nods. "That's what I have so far. Who's controlling them, why and where they are taking the humans, I don't know yet."

I shake my head and bury my face in my hands. That's a lot of work to do. I have to return to my own pack, we have problems of our own.

"Stiles you know about these creatures more than anyone in the pack. We druids are creatures of nature ourselves. It will be easier for us to spot where the devas are, and you can turn them back. You can rescue this town Stiles. You will be returning people back to their families. Or at least give them closure."

And damn if that isn’t enough to be a deal breaker. Who am I to deprive people of their lives when I can give it back to them?

"Have you told the Hale pack about all this?"

"Not yet. I have only realized this last night, when the gnome attacked me."

"Have you told their Alpha about me being their Em- about me helping their pack?" I'm not their Emissary. I'm Scott's. "Derek doesn't trust me."

"I will tell him."

I take a deep breath. "I'm not even a druid yet. I'm still an apprentice. I'm not allowed to practice magic without my connoisseur. "

"If you say you are my apprentice, then I'm giving you permission. I know you still haven’t mastered your spells, but your life force is very powerful, Stiles. I can feel it. I know it can be trusted. In due time it will surpass my own, and no one will know what you will be able to do."

I heard that from Deaton too. I sigh. "A month? I’m not sure I can stay that long. I have to return to where I'm from."

"You have to wait for me. I want to come back as soon as I have healed completely, but you know that the gates to Ynes Mon only opens during New Moon."

I pretend that I’m thinking, that I’m still considering things, but I knew I would help the moment Deaton said I could. I figured long ago that that is my core. Amidst all the danger that being in a Pack entails, I can never turn a blind eye when a problem or situation asks for my presence. I have this, this innate urge to help whenever I can, even when I’m not wanted.

"Please promise you will help me go back."

He places his hands in my shoulders and squeezes lightly. "I promise I will use all my resources and abilities to help you. The pack will help too, as soon as I come back."

"A month then," I stand up. "But you have to teach me the undoing spell first."

o0o

I was completely exhausted by the time I went home, and even then I haven't mastered the spell completely. I know the ritual and the chant but I need to practice more to increase its success and potency.

I close the door of my jeep, tucking the keys in my jacket's pocket when I sense someone sitting in the porch stairs.

Peter - his shoulders hunched as he clings his jacket closer to his body as if he's been waiting here in the cold for a while now.

The wind blows my scent in his direction and he looks up.

"Stiles?" He stands. The light in the porch illuminates his form, and if I didn't know better I would say something stupid like beautiful. Except for the monster hiding underneath.

"I said we can't meet each other anymore.”

He steps forward and I take a step back.

"Stiles are you having an episode again? Did you take your medicine?"

"What?"

"You can talk to me. And didn't we talked about not making decisions when you're depressed?"

I huff. "I'm not depressed. I know what I'm doing, and I don't want to talk to you. I know what you are, Peter. I know all of the corruption you hide behind that facade."

He furrows his brow worriedly and then raises his hands. "I'm going to come closer."

I scramble backwards, mentally preparing all the spells and charms that might be of use when dealing with a sociopathic werewolf. "NO! Stay where you are."

"Stiles calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Right."

"Tell me what's wrong, Stiles."

"Don't Stiles Stiles me like you know me!" I say exasperatedly. "I'm not that Stiles, okay! I only have the same name and the same face but I'm not the Stiles who sleeps with you."

My breathing goes quicker and heart beat faster.

"I'm stuck here, for a month! And then things will go back. And you will have your Stiles back, if he even exist. If he's even real and if this place is even real. Whatever real is! I don't even know anymore," I sob without any tears. Though it's threatening to spill any time soon.

Suddenly I'm being wrapped around some huge arms and my immediate thought is he's going to crush me to death.

But his grip is surprisingly gentle, his hand rubbing soothing circles at my nape.

"Shhh," he says, almost whispering. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay. "

And I didn't know how badly I needed to hear those words until I did.

I let myself linger in his arms for a moment, relishing the way his body feels warm and safe against my own. Like it knows him well.

Except it doesn’t, because only Derek is supposed to make me feel this way.

I push him away with as much force as I can, our little moment making him vulnerable allowing me to take a few steps back and grab a speckle of powdered wolfsbane I took from Deaton's clinic. I blow it at the werewolf, stunning him temporarily, enough to let me grab again a handful of powdered mountain ash and shower it in the air, chanting as the wind guides them to my house, protecting its vicinity in a perfect circle.

I retreat back to the porch where the mountain ash can shield me from Peter. "Don't go near me ever again. I don't know what kind of relationship we are supposed to have in this place, but it cannot continue any longer. I'm not the Stiles you know."

Peter steps forward again, walking towards me as close as he can until the invisible barrier stops him. "Don't do this, Stiles. You can't do this to me without giving me a proper explanation. You know I won't just leave you like this. Not when you're vulnerable."

I laugh humorlessly. "I'm not vulnerable. Or defenseless. I have mountain ash and druidic spells at my disposal."

He frowns. "Is that what you've been doing these past few days? But why?"

"It's none of your business. Leave before my dad sees you here."

His frown deepens even more, and before I could let myself ask why I open the door and hurries to go in, shutting it with a bang.

"Dad?" I call out. Inside, it was pitch black and the silence was deafening. It smells like the place has been deserted long ago. The couch and the armchair looks sad, probably really dusty as well. The TV is unplugged and the pictures in the wall are not familiar look at. There are cobwebs in the ceiling too.

I shrug off my backpack and put it on the floor, turning on the lights as I make my way to the kitchen. The kitchen was no less lifeless than the living room, the cupboards shut and unopened as if small creatures have been residing inside. The utensils are covered in dust which clings to my skin when I run my fingers in them.

I take a deep breath and starts cleaning.

o0o

When I finish making the house look like there are actual people inhabiting the place, I was feeling tired and wrung out and dirty. It feels like my body is covered in grime and dust and all the dirty particles I managed to scrape off every visible surface.

The clock reads 9 o'clock but Dad still hasn't arrived. Despite feeling boneless I help my way to my room for a quick shower.

I try not to sigh at how disconcerting my room looks; the changes not too drastic but still present and too many that it doesn't feel like my own anymore.

I walk to the toilet and starts undressing. Worming my way out of my clothes, I caught my reflection in the mirror and my heart clenches a bit more. My cheekbones are more pronounced, standing out in a way that will make Angelina Jolie in Maleficent proud. It may have looked good if my cheeks aren't so hollowed that I basically look like a skull plastered with really thin skin. The bags under my eyes are indicative of how badly I need sleep.

I look down at my now fully naked body, and I gasp, noticing the changes for the first time. I have scars everywhere, surely from self-harm. My wrist and arms are littered with scar lines in varying lenghts and depths. There are a few ones too in my outer thighs. My ribs are visible and my hipbones are jutting out like I have anorexia.

I run for the sink and vomit.

When I finish I look at the mirror again, wondering idly if the face staring back is really me. Wondering how I got the scars, what happened to trigger the urges to do something as cowardly as cutting my own wrist for attention. Wondering if anybody noticed at all, or if I really had always been the guy who kept to himself and nobody cared.

Numbly I glance at my left, noticing my array of toiletries and a small bottle of pills. I pick it up, reading the inscription. 

_Escitalopram. Anti-depressant._

I walk inside the tub, sitting with my legs bent. I turn on the water, and as the tub fills itself I rub myself raw, willing the scars I don't know the meaning of to disappear.

For the first time I let some tears fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tumblr (I spam Larry things and Sterek stuffs a lot) : http://shippingbullshitandwerewolves.tumblr.com/


	7. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii. Sorry for the late update. It's pretty obvious that I can't keep my promise of updating within four days. School started again. Yeah. *stabs my pillows*
> 
> I'm getting really confused with the pairings in this fic. Like, I don't know. Plot-wise I'm already down, but the pairings. gods. 
> 
> Enjoy some smut. This chapter is also extra longer to make up for the late update. 
> 
> Warnings: Underage Sex (really explicit), mentions of death

I wake up the next day with a start. There’s a fresh breeze propelling from the window…still opened the way I left it last night while I waited for Derek. The light peering through the parted curtain illuminates the room, the colors dawning from last night’s black to hints of a morning yellow.

Turning towards the CD rack beside my bed, I reach for the Aqualung CDs. I notice once again that the first two albums are missing, and I make a mental note to raid the world for it before picking the third album and skipping three songs to _Good Times Gonna Come._

I close my eyes and let myself drown to the song, distinguishing every instrument and sound and allowing the blend to dissolve in my ears. It’s one of the things I love the most with his music – the unique way the sounds melodize with each other, how he lulls you into a chorus of crescendos and cradles you in soft harmonies. And his lyrics, gods, his poetic lyrics. They’re the only ones I can rightfully associate with the words _real music._

My obsession with Aqualung CDs started when Dad told me it was mom’s _favorite_ (an understatement). He told me that a day before their wedding she barged into his room with two CDs pressed against her chest, her face taught in concentration as she sat at the edge of his bed. Dad said he felt nervous, for my mother was a woman of laughter and never did he saw her as serious as she was in that moment.

“This is my first love,” she confessed. “This is my first true love. No one and nothing in this world ever understood me the way these precious things did.”

She handed it to him, and told him that if he wanted a lifetime with her he has to accept a lifetime of Aqualung songs.

He agreed, not really knowing what she meant. That night he listened to the albums on replay, replacing one CD with the other when it’s finished, setting it on loop and filling the night before his wedding of songs that stole his wife’s heart.

He finally understood when, at the night of their wedding, they danced under the moonlight with Aqualung’s _Glimmer_ playing in the background. The people precious to them watched as they swayed into the music, her arms wrapped around his neck and face buried in his chest. And in the mornings after, when he would wake up to the sounds of her manning the kitchen and singing along the lyrics of _Brighter Than Sunshine._ In the most peaceful of nights when they’d fall on slumber under the gentle hum of _Magnetic North._ When I was in her womb and she’d listen to _Strange and Beautiful_ on endless repeat while she reads a book in her favorite armchair at the balcony. And on the day I was born and the doctor came out shaking his head, muttering an apology and “we did our best,” Dad was the one who never stopped listening to _Lost._

When he told me this story, I found myself listening to the songs all the time, not caring about Scott’s constant _can we please listen to something else this time please?_ Aqualung, made me feel closer to my mom more than anything in the world. It made me understand her, made me know her stories – the ones she didn’t had a chance to tell.

And so it became my life mission to complete all the albums, to find the recent ones that she never came to hear because she gave up her life so I could live.

Derek helped me find the last of it. We foraged every single store in California and planned to pursue every single state. In the end we found it in the most unexpected place on a time intended for a completely different reason. It was in a secluded antique book store in New York, when Derek was searching for a rare book about Wolves. I recognized the music as soon as the door closed behind me, Derek accidentally bumping against me from behind as I stood frozen.

“Sti~”

“Ssshh,” I whispered. “Listen. It’s the gods. Singing.”

I’ve never heard the song before, but the voice, the harmony, the lyrics, was all overtly familiar, like a signature mark that screams AQUALUNG. The man behind the counter, probably the same age as Dad, was as happy as I was that we found a mutual. In fact, he was so happy that he gave me the album and a rare poster. For free. I was in Cloud 9.

Derek permitted me to play it on repeat as we drove home. It was a quiet, star-filled night. The windows of his Camaro were rolled down and the wind hurried past us, blowing at our hair in random directions. As _Nowhere_ played I let my head out the window and let the cool, fresh air wash my face. Derek reached for my hand.

“Not safe,” he said, looking at me almost apologetically. When did he started getting past the stern and reprimanding looks?

“Mkay,” I muttered.

 _Gentle_ started playing and I shifted to my side, my body angled and facing him. I just stared at him, smiling each time he squeezed my hand or shot me a quick look.

“You look good like this in this angle,” I said. “But you look better naked.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. Your clothes are offending. Nobody should make you wear clothes. You should be naked all the time. Have you even ever seen yourself naked?”

“You’re not so bad either,” he smirked.

I huffed. “You liked the ego boost, didn’t you? You big-headed wolf. I was just riling you up. None of that was true.”

He pulled over. A quick look outside and I knew we were in the middle of nowhere.

“I’m going to change your mind because I do have a well sculpted body. You can see it for yourself.” He pulled his shirt over his head, his muscled arms rippling with action at the movement and I gulped. Hearing my reaction he smirked again, and then to torture me further he slouched a bit on his seat, his abdominal muscles now more pronounced and obscene. I just wanted to lick them so I did. I planted kisses on each of his abs (6 in total, I counted), licked my way to his chest and flicked my tongue on each of his nipples, up to his neck.

I moved towards him and climbed in his lap, and because I’m me I bumped my head somewhere in the car. Before I can even groan Derek pulled me against him, capturing my lips, and pushed my hips down to his.

“You love this, don’t you?” I whisper as my mouth travelled down to his jaw. “You love that the windows are open and any car might pass and the people inside will see us like this. See me riding you inside your car. See us both naked,” I grinded my hips down to his hardening cock and he bucked, grabbing me again for a heated kiss.

“Less talking, more doing,” he muttered, a little bit breathless and my heart beats fast because I did that to a sourwolf.

“More fucking,” I agreed, kissing him again.

 _7 Keys_ played in the background as he unbuttoned my shirt, exposing just my shoulders and sucking the uncovered skin, long enough to leave a mark. My hands worked its way to our pants. We made embarrassing and silly motions as we shimmied out of them, and I hit my head somewhere again, and Derek just laughed.

When I sat back to his lap I motioned to remove my unbuttoned shirt which he stripped just past my shoulders, but Derek stopped me.

“Keep it there. You look amazing naked but I don’t really want someone else seeing you bare like that.”

He reached for the compartment where I knew he kept the lube. We don’t really bother with condoms, since werewolves can’t get HIV and he won’t let me top.

“Let me,” I said. I poured the lube in my palm, a little bit more than usual, and wrapped it around his erection, slicking him up. “You don’t need to prep me. We did it this morning too, remember? I think I’m still stretched enough. Probably still filled with your cum.”

He grunted, gaze locked to my mouth. “I don’t remember when all the dirty talking started. But keep it going. And I just want to finger you.” He poured lube in his fingers. “Lift your hips a bit.”

I did as my palm continued working his length. He wrapped his arms around me and pushed me against his body so I can lean on him. Grabbing my thighs he manhandled me into a position so that my ass is jutting out, my hole more easily accessible. He gripped the cheeks of my ass with both hands, and then, without any warning, pushed inside three lubed fingers.

I groaned, tightening my grip on his cock. “Asshole. That hurt. Could’ve – ah – warned me first.”

He kissed my neck, sucking a bruise, and I could feel his smile. “You said you were stretched enough.”

“I said maybe.”

He slipped away one finger and probed my prostrate with his remaining two. The sensation was so overwhelming that I let go of his cock and wrapped my arms around his neck, my full weight now leaning against him.

He didn’t budge and continued working his fingers, doing his best to elicit a sound, any reaction from me. Of course he succeeded.

“Ready for me?” he asked directly to my ear. I nodded, probably too fast for my own dignity. But oh well, the dignity ship sailed away months ago.

He lifted my hips and gently lowered me down to his hardness, letting me adjust to the now familiar feeling of being full. A couple of months back I would have imagined being familiar with incapacitated body parts (and human insides that I’m sure I haven’t read about in my Anatomy book) or hearing that pokemons are real, but not this. I wouldn’t have imagined being one of those teenagers who actually experiences awesome underage sex and whose skin glows because of the sheer amount of sexing they do in a week. Or a day.

I rode him, gently, lifting myself up and lowering back down slow enough to ravish the sensation of his cock (which I never get enough of, we both know) filling me and stretching my hole.

I lifted my torso from where it’s leaning against his body and looked at him, his eyes closed and lips parted in ecstasy. I bit his lower lip, dragging it until he opened his eyes.

“Give me attention,” I breathed. “You’re making me do all the hard work.”

He smiled perfectly, grabbed my hips and gave a forceful thrust, making me whimper.

“Perfect...” he said with another quick thrust “like this…” _thrust_ “all the” _thrust_ “fucking” _thrust_ “time.”

I kissed him, trying to tell him what I think without actually _telling_ him. That I feel the same, that I feel perfect with him. Whole - like puzzle pieces finally being one, the right key for a stubborn lock, a bland recipe sprinkled with the missing magic ingredient. That he gives me the feeling that makes scrawny, dorky, scatterbrained teenage boys weave muddled words into a random poetry.

He modified our positions, pushing me away from him so my back is rested against the steering wheel, the pressure digging at my skin that I know would bother me tomorrow but I can’t care about right now. He wrapped an arm around my hips, the other gripping tightly at my shoulders, and thrusts upwards, making both of us groan with a surprised _ah!_ In this angle, only the head of his cock is rubbing bluntly against my prostate, teasing, sensuous, but not enough.

“Faster,” I said, voice hoarse with the way my neck is tilted upwards, lost in ecstasy. “Harder,”

He complied, inching our bodies closer as much as he could and pounded relentlessly, the obscene wet sound of his lube cocked going in and out of my whole echoing inside the car, muddled with my own series of _ah! ahhh!_

“There’s a car. Coming,” he said suddenly without pausing his thrusts. I can’t hear the car yet so maybe it’s still far. “Probably a van.”

“They’ll see us,” I looked at him, relished the way his irises are coal black, blinded with desire that’s also coursing in my own veins. “They’ll see you fucking me perfectly like this. _Ah_!”

His eyes turn red. “Mine.”

“Don’t you dare stop,” I said when I hear the van coming closer.

He didn’t seem to have planned to, and instead pounded faster and harder in a way that must’ve been supernatural (pun, people). The familiar heat coiled in my stomach, vibrations of pleasure roaming through my whole body with each thrust until my back arched and I exploded with a shout of Derek’s name. The familiar high of orgasm clouded my head.

The van passes by then, a tiny bit slower than cars should be in the middle of nowhere, and it pushes Derek to the edge, shoving one last time with the sexiest grunt any man could possibly come by, and filling me with his cum.

He seemed as boneless as I was a minute ago, so with much effort I pushed myself away from the steering wheel and let my body fall, sagged, against him. His muscles rippled as he panted with less effort than I did, and I let myself be carried along with the motions. I stayed plastered against him until his breathing turned even, and when it did I tried to match it with my own. I can feel his heart beating through his chest, loud and pulsing, and I know he can feel mine too – loud, pulsing, calling his name.

 _I love you,_ I would’ve said because it felt like I did. Strongly so. But Lydia told me once: never say the L word when you’re high.

“Did they saw us?” I asked when I was finally able. Maybe 500 years later.

“Yeah. ‘Twas two girls,” he replied lazily, rubbing circles in my lower back. “The one peering at the window said we were hot.”

I laughed. “Sure we are.”

o0o

I shower obsessive-compulsively, making sure to scrub out any scent that may scream Peter. The scars, I can’t do anything about them. But maybe I could drop by at Deaton’s later, maybe ask for a healing salve or something. I also need to eat. And to eat, I need money. And to have money, I need to work. And to work, I need to go to Peter. To hell with that. I will need to find another job soon.

As the album continues playing I rummage the wardrobe and fish out for an outfit that wouldn’t make me look like the kid who never got past _the_ seventh grade, all black shirts and ripped jeans. I’m sure this Stiles (Because it’s not me, okay. I don’t know how to refer to someone who’s supposedly me, but I’m sure I’m not) has an eyeliner somewhere to complete his emo look. I’m not judging him because he’s clinically depressed, hence the medication, but he has to take some basic fashion classes, if his wardrobe is an indication. Something like _Fashion 102: Keeping Up_

It’s a feeble attempt of finding decent clothes but at least I tried.

When I finish trying to make myself feel comfortable in my own skin, there’s still enough time left to research, so I prop down the computer and started printing all the articles that has anything to do with B-Hill’s _mysterious disappearances._

Turned out, there’s a lot of them. The number of missing people is painstakingly high that it must’ve been giving Dad a massive, throbbing headache. It makes me want to help even more, because even though the father I know is different, at least I’m still helping him in some way. It must’ve been the reason why he’s been leaving home early and getting home late. Wait, did he even went home last night? Then it dawns to me that the last time I saw him was during the first morning that the world turned upside down.

My heart beats faster, and even though I want to research more my hands are suddenly trembling. I pick all the papers I printed and stuff it in my bag.

I walk outside my room and goes to Dad’s room, knocking hesitantly. “Dad?”

Silence.

“Dad I know it’s early but I just wanna know if you’re there. Dad?”

Nothing. I twist the knob, but it’s locked. Only Dad has a key to his room, but I think we keep an extra in the basement.

I walk down the kitchen, feeling proud of myself for actually _cleaning_ the whole place. I walk to the door beside the refrigerator that leads to the basement, and it took me a couple of seconds to realize there’s no knob. A strange feeling washes over me, the surge of compulsion I usually feel when exercising my powers, and I try to reach for the other side of the door. I can’t. I place a palm to its surface, feeling the hum of the wood, and yes, it’s made of mountain ash. As far as I remember nothing in my house is made of mountain ash. But then again nothing makes sense in this world.

I push it, slide it, but it doesn’t budge. Suddenly I’m feeling the surge of power again, like a tide washing towards the shore, and then retreating back to the ocean. My eyes widens when I realize that my power is protecting me on reflex, and that only means _something_ is attacking me. Something mystical, probably a charm or a curse.

I take a few steps back and close my eyes. It still takes some getting used to see the world using the supernatural eye, but I have somewhat mastered the ability. When I open my eyes again the world is in a whole new different color, I know that when I go outside I will be seeing the world in its true form, unmasked from any barrier or dimension that keeps the world in a harmonious balance. The balance that, if Deaton was right, corrupted by an evil force that influenced the devas to surface in a dimension they’re not supposed to be in.

I look at the door again and sees what has been triggering my powers to protect me. There are three runes embedded on the door, a simple trick that a novice druid-in-training will be able to pull off. The first is an invisibility charm, meant to hide the door from easy eyes which I effortlessly bypassed because I’m an apprentice. The next one is a compulsion charm, anyone near the door would feel like they need to leave the room as soon as they can. And the last is a guarding charm, meant to lock the door from anyone trying to come in.

It’s a tricky but smart combination, low-level spells but potent. Maybe, the Stiles of this place is also a druid. I don’t know. Is there even a ‘Stiles of this place?’ I’m not making sense even in my own mind. I really need some answers.

I raise my arms and disarm the charm, something that’s quite easy for me to do because of the power of my life force. Disarming charms is like untangling an intricate and highly complicated web. That web signifies the power of the caster of the charm itself, because it’s equivalent to their life force. Naturally it leaves a signature mark in the charm, a smudge of used power that gives you tiny glimpses about the druid who cast the spell.

This one has a dark life force, it has the potential to be really powerful but as of the time this charms were created, it was just a novice. That person is probably a hybrid, someone who practices two fields of magic and is immensely powerful on the other. And it’s guarding something in the basement.

When I shift back to my human eyes the knob of the door is back, and I step forward to twist it open. The descending steps were not visible because of the darkness, so I turn on the light. My eyes widen.

There’s a scary looking goblin guarding the door, looking at me with a pissed off face, maybe because I woke him up from his sleep when I turned on the light. Goblins hate being woke up.

I immediately chant a protection spell for myself, and instinctively I call out for my Alpha through my pack bond but there was nothing. Right, I have no pack.

The goblin snarls, its huge eyes pointed sharply at me, teeth bared. It wasn’t exactly like what Deaton described – eyes red, mouth dripping with saliva- so I didn’t know what to do. How would I cast the spell of undoing if there’s nothing to undo? Maybe I could use ~ oh shit the goblin starts running up the stairs, probably wanting a taste of my leg. God knows how long he’s been trapped here, hungry. I scramble for the door, slipping on my own feet once before finally going out to the kitchen. There’s no trees or vines or animals to manipulate nearby. I must go outside first before I can properly defend myself. I was past the kitchen table when something hard hits my head, the metallic sound of its impact ringing on my ear, and I stumble to the floor. Beside me a cooking pan clanks noisily as it fell. That really hurt.

“OUT! NO INTRUDER! MASTER SAID NO INTRUDER!” The goblin was shouting angrily. It’s now standing on the kitchen counter and pointing angrily at me. “INTRUDDEEEERRRR!!!!”

It picks another cooking pan and hauls it in my direction, and I reacted quick enough to avoid it hitting my face. It reaches next for a kitchen knife and I expand my powers, reaching for the nearest tree and elongating its vines. It’s not long enough.

No No No. I can’t die like this. What did I learn about goblins at Ynes Mon? Right, goblins are territorial. It will guard its home or any place that its master will command it to guard. It’s a nasty enemy but a very loyal servant. Wait, if this is my house, then that means the goblin is possibly my servant.

The angry goblin is jumping up and down like a toddler having a tantrum, screaming about _knowing your place_ and INTRUDEERRRRRRR.

“CALM THE FUCK DOWN! THIS IS MY HOUSE!” I shout back at him. I should’ve wore my jacket. There are leaves of mistletoe in there that I brought from Deaton’s.

At that the goblin stops jumping and drops the knife, his bulging eyes turning into something soft and curious, his perked ears lowering down submissively. “M-master?”

The goblin, to whom I assume was a male (it’s hard to tell), jumps off the counter and lands with a thud, probably fell on its rear. They have huge tolerance to blows and pain.

I scramble backwards, reaching for the pan that hit my head and pointing it at the goblin’s direction defensively.

I waited for him to spring out, but then it hesitantly peers behind the corner of the counter, eyes wide as it examines me. It seems to recognize my face, and upon the realization it then throws itself on the floor, crying hysterically. “Master! Dru did no recognize your smell, master. Dru is terribly terribly sorry.”

I wasn’t really taught how to deal with house goblins. So I ask, “You live here?”

It slowly turns its face to me, eyes suddenly menacing again. “Why you don’t know?” he sniffs the air. “You NO smell like my master.”

He lifts himself from the floor, his movements strange to look at. He strides a few steps towards me and I try to stand, head still pounding from what I can guess is a concussion. I point the pan at him as I take slow, retreating steps towards the front door.

When I stood his eyes softens again as quickly as it turned sharp, his ears retreating down. “You look exactly like master,” he murmurs and then turns to his left, walking a little. “But you no smell like him.” He shifts to the right and starts walking again. “What important Dru, look or smell?”

While he contemplates I take slow steps backwards, careful not to make sudden movements that will surprise the conflicted goblin.

As I was nearing the couch and two steps away from the front door, he seems to have decided finally. “WITCHCRAFT! Those sly witches! They copy my master and try barge the basement so they know his secret! You get out! OUT!”

I am more than happy to be out now, so I bolted towards the door and closes it behind me, the goblin’s threats and curses muffled behind. I run towards my Jeep and drives to school.

o0o

History started already by the time I went to class. And because this place is a little bit behind in time, I am taking classes that I’m supposed to have completed already. I even went to a room that I’m not supposed to be in, since as far as I remember that was the room for that class. So yesterday I went for a quick trip to the Guidance Office and asked for my schedule.

I stepped inside the opened classroom and ducked my head for the walk of shame. I hate being late, mostly because of the judging stares that people throws as I scramble for my seat.

“Mr. Stilinski, this is the first time you were late in my class,” a familiar voice said.

I turn around and see Mr. Yukimura, looking at me expectantly. He’s here. That means. I turn my head again and scan the room, looking for her face. She was looking back at me just like the other students, her arms resting on her desk, looking just as unsure as she was the first time I saw her. Scott is sitting BESIDE her but he’s not paying attention, occupied while texting someone. Allison perhaps. I grimace. Have they even met?

I look at Mr. Yukimura again and smiles, muttering an apology. He nods and waves me to my seat. My seat is in front of Scott’s and as I settle down he glances at me and smiles. There’s a dopey grin spread on his face, and yep, I’m willing to bet he’s texting Allison.

I turn around and glances at Kira, who was writing something on her notebook. Her hair is wavy, and she’s wearing some tight-fitting black blouse and purple leggings. She’s always been pretty in her own, exquisite, Asian way. I wonder how long her family has been here, if she knows about her abilities already. I can’t estimate because if the Nugitsune has been dealt with already, there’s no Barrow who would hostage Kira. Actually if the Nugitsune and the Darach has already been dealt with, well Derek’s pack is sure moving fast. What, Scott got bitten when he was in 8th grade? It still doesn’t makes sense.

“Hey, man. Are you texting Allison? Can you ask her if she brought the Bestiary?” I ask Scott whose eyes are still glued on his phone.

“Oh. I’m texting Isaac,” he replies. When he realizes what he said he bites his bottom lip, his eyes darting away, suddenly shy and uncomfortable. It makes something tight coil in my stomach, because Scott never keeps a secret from me. I know this isn’t the Scott I know, but, it’s still a bit unsettling. “But sure, I’ll text her.”

Before I can start comprehending his actions Mr. Yukimura resumes his lesson, something about World War II. I smile because it means I can slack off from listening and read the articles I printed. I think I will ace his exams, because I have completed this course already months ago.

Turns out I can’t though, because somewhere in his discussion I keep hearing about events I’m sure I don’t remember World History having. I remember Deaton’s questions, and realize that this place’s history is, in some crazy way, somehow different from my own.

I ended up listening to Mr. Yukimura, both fascinated and confused at the bits of differences here and there about the history he’s telling us.

He even asks me a question just before the class ended. Of course I got it wrong.

o0o

At lunch, I didn’t know where to sit. I don’t think Deaton have told the Pack yet about me being his replacement for a month, so I don’t think I’m a welcome addition in their table. Erica downright told me she can’t trust me yet.

I looked around for Kira, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Probably in the classroom with her Dad, since that’s where she used to spend her free times before she gradually became a part of our Pack. I’ll talk to her later.

I spot Lydia, though, sitting alone in one of the tables at the farthest corner of the cafeteria. She’s still not wearing any make up, her hair tied in a messy bun, wearing a floral dress and a pink blazer. Despite this she still looks better than most of the girls within her proximity.

I walk towards her and sits down, facing her. People turned their heads to look at us, and I can guess why. Because we look good together.

Lydia looks at me with a confused brow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting opposite you.”

“I can see that. Leave me alone.”

Wow. “I just wanted to talk.”

She looks incredulous, a few second away from storming out. “No,” she shakes his head frantically.

“Wait, you have to see this.”

I open my bag and fish out the articles I have printed. I didn’t plan to lay this out on her in the school’s cafeteria, but she doesn’t look like she’s willing to listen anywhere else either. This can be the only chance I will get.

“These are just some of the cases of the missing people in Beacon Hills,” I spread the printed articles like playing cards in front of her. “Almost ¼ of the population is disappearing mysteriously, without any sort of lead that would help the police track them. There are countless families missing their members, there are children sick with some unexplainable illness. There are actual establishments shutting down because of the disappearances.”

She touches the paper and looks up at me with tear-brimmed eyes. “You think I don’t know that? My mother’s been missing for a month.”

I inhaled, suddenly feeling sorry for her. I imagine my own Dad missing without any trace, and my heart hammers.

“What if you can do something to find all these people? Not just your mother, Lydia. What if you can help _everyone_?”

She starts biting her nails. I have never seen her so perturbed like this, and I almost want to stop pushing her. Lydia is intelligent, she probably knows now where I’m heading. But she can be the only key to finding all these missing people. And even though things are different around here, I’m sure she’s still a Banshee. Aside from the fact that her family have always had the lineage, Scott’s story of her meant her abilities have already presented a long time ago. It may have lead people to think she’s a lunatic, and maybe she thought so too. Hearing voices and being attuned to the sounds of the universe like no other creature, surely must’ve been hard for her.

“What are you talking about?”

“I know about your abilities,” I reach for her hand but she retreats. “I know that you’re a Banshee. The Wailing Woman.”

At that, her eyes widens and she gasps audibly, earning curious glances from the people around us again. “Don’t be afraid. I’m something like you, too. I’m a druid.”

She stands from her seat and takes a step back. “You’re crazy. Everyone here thinks I’m crazy, but you are the one who’s clearly lost it. I know you’ve lost both of your parents, I get that. But this, this craziness you’re spluttering right now? You need a visit at Eichen House,” she spats bitterly.

She glowers at me one last time before storming away, leaving me dumbfounded. _You’ve lost both of your parents._ Something flickered in my mind, just like the last time I saw Dad. I hear voices, muffled, inaudible. And then it’s gone.

I snap and runs after her in the hallways, ignoring the looks from everyone. In the corner of my eyes I see Scott and the others standing too, following me.

“Lydia!” I called. “Wait!”

She halts, turning at me with tears in her eyes.

I look her in the eyes as earnest as I can, wanting to reach the cord that often connects the two of us, makes us understand each other easily. “I’m saying the truth. I know you know you’re something. And I’m something too.”

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hand as if to stop herself from wailing. “And so what? What if I’m something? What if I’m different? What now?”

I step closer. “You can help them. Help us. There’s a pack of werewolves in Beacon Hills, and they…they kinda sworn themselves into helping the town solve its supernatural problems.”

She shakes her head again, but the corners of her lips stretches upwards. “I know there were werewolves. I keep hearing them howling, even though there are no wolves in California. Jackson is a werewolf, isn’t he?”

I raise a brow. “You know Jackson?”

She sort of dissolves in a mini panic, the type every girl usually does when they’ve been discovered ogling their crush. The Lydia I know won’t succumb to such mundane actions, but then I don’t really know the Lydia I’m facing right now. I don’t know her story, how she coped with growing up while hearing things a normal person isn’t supposed to hear.

“Yeah. Uhm. He just, feels different. I’ve always…There are certain people who feels different. Not human.”

“Do I feel different?”

She looks me in the eye, scrunches them a bit. “Strangely, yes. But not…not as before.”

“What do you mean?”

“You used to…used to feel off. Like a misplaced furniture. Now you just…you feel strange, but right.”

I can’t understand. I opened my mouth to ask more, but then the Pack is suddenly behind me. Lydia looks at them like a scared rabbit.

“We’re werewolves,” Erica says. “Stiles said you’re a banshee.”

“Hi,” Jackson adds. He smiles, the smiles he probably use to lure people in his car. He probably heard Lydia mentioning his name, of all people.

Lydia visibly flusters, and she knows she does, so she looks down. “I’m gonna go.”

“Wait, Lydia,” Allison calls, her arms slithered around Scott. Isaac’s arm is wrapped around Scott’s shoulder. “You’re gonna help us, right?”

_Yeah, Lyds. Listen to your bestfriend._

She looks at all of us, unsure. “I can’t.”

Scott steps out this time. “But you have the ability to. I know it’s too much but…I believe there’s always a reason for everything. A reason why we’re different. It’s because we have a purpose, something different to contribute in this world that normal people can’t.”

And wow, Scott surely mastered his Yoda skills. I almost applauded.

Lydia turns around again and faces us, her arms wrapped around herself defensively. She looks down. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to hear things, to be called crazy because of the things that only I can feel and hear. Can we really find them? Don’t you think it’s…it’s too big of a responsibility? That the fate of all those missing people lies on our hand? On a bunch of teenagers?”

“Werewolves,” Isaac coughs. “Bunch of werewolves.”

The question Lydia asked…my pack have encountered them on more than one occasion. We’ve had those moments where others, even  sometimes ourselves, doubted our own abilities, our own limits. The extent to where we can be stretched. It’s a self-doubt that even I have gone through. There are countless times that I have asked myself, can I really do this? Can we save people, on top of taking quizzes and attending classes and dealing with being a teenager? And the truth is…we neither can or can’t. We just do. We gain some, we lose some. It’s simply a matter of dealing, of fighting while you wear a blindfold, with the future unseen. And in the end we just emerge, and most often than not, beautifully.

“We’ll manage,” I say to her. “We always do.”

The others look at me, probably confused because I’ve never really trudged any battle with them.

“This is still too much for me to handle. I don’t know,” Lydia rubs her arm as if comforting herself. “Let me think of it.”

I take a step forward and touch her arm, nodding at her. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Trust me, I know the feeling. But~”

Lydia takes a step forward and reaches her hand to touch my face. Her face looks blank, perplexed. “You’re back,” she breathed. “You’re finally back.”

“What?”

Her face falls, the realization of her actions suddenly dawned on her. She retreats quickly, taking a few steps back. “I’m sorry,” she say, frantic. “It happens. I usually don’t know what I’m doing.”

She walks away quickly without looking back.

The others look at me questioningly, but I’m more confused than them. What did she mean that I’m back?

Boyd taps my shoulder and I look at him. He hands me the papers that I left on the cafeteria when I ran after Lydia. “Thanks,” I muttered. Looking at the paper.

There’s a familiar picture on top of the papers, even though it was facing the wrong way I can read the tile. _Newly transfer student at Beacon Hills High School mysteriously disappears after a vehicular accident._

I rotated the paper to properly see the face, just making sure, despite my quickening heartbeat. I was right.

It’s Liam.

My heart drops.

o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut, hahaha. I never thought I would be able to write it. I was unsure and a bit uncomfortable with it at first, but then I probably already had my own excessive dose of smut. 
> 
> And forgive me for the Aqualung worship. I just.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> I have a tumblr: shippingbullshitandwerewolves.tumblr.com


	8. Genim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't review for a quiz to wrap up this chapter. Haha. I regret nothing. The ideas whirls around my head all day and I just had to get it out. 
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Warnings: Smut (a bit), Mentions of Abuse, Depression

It’s one of those days again. Some days I just wake up, and I know life will seem galactically shittier than its usual shitty-ness. I know life is naturally rotten, but some days are just worse than the others. It always happens twice a month, after every fourteen days. The days during a New Moon and a Full Moon.

Tonight will be a New Moon, and I’m a mess inside again.

When I told this to Ms. Morell, she was rattled. She said it was the first time she encountered a depressive episode that follows a schedule. She even asked me to plot the days within four months, make sure that there really is a pattern. There always had been. I have been observing it for the past year, plotting the days on the calendar I posted behind the door of my closet.

She told me it’s a manifestation of my depression. A peak, she called it, periods of ultimate vulnerability and bigoted darkness. I call it ‘bubble days’. Sounds fun, right? Not. It’s literally like being inside a bubble, minus all the rainbow-colored walls and bright colored worldview. It’s a bubble of darkness where your shadiest, murkiest, darkest thoughts are confined, spiraling onto itself and playing out like a demented mantra.

She also said that it isn’t real, that even though my mind will be filled with irrationalities and it would feel impossible to get out of it, it’s just what it is. Only an illusion, a rebellion of the mind, dragging you out of reality and bringing your demons to life. Hold on, she said. Ride it out. It will get better soon.

I never believed her.

Sadness has always been a part of my life. It always have been my companion for as long as I remember. Even when both of my parents were still alive, it follows me like a shadow. Toned down a bit because of my mother’s comfort, suppressed because of the presence of the people I love. So of course, when they were gone, shit hit the fan.

I don’t even know how I managed to survive the past three years without them. There’s Peter and work and school, and some other things I’d rather not think about. Would not think about. Cannot think about. Pieces of self-preservation that barely hold me at the seams.

I look around my room and notice the changes, and I sigh. So, I’m still in this craziness. At least Dad’s alive.

 _Dad_. The Sheriff. Alive.

I scramble from the bed, hurriedly kicking away my covers and running to the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I scan myself at the mirror. I look…attractive. Desirable, even. Actually someone I would’ve been if life was kinder. If I didn’t end up etching my skin with scars, watching myself bleed and letting the pain wash over my thoughts.

I walk to Dad’s room, turning the knob quietly and pushing the door ajar. He said last night he won’t lock the door, just in case I need anything.

He really was there. Still asleep, probably snoring, but he’s there. Lying very still and covered in a thick comforter, huddled securely like a caterpillar in its cocoon. I tiptoe towards him, trying to be as quiet as I can so as not to wake him from his slumber.

Kneeling at the side of the bed, I study his face. His wrinkles have increased since the last time I saw them three years ago. He still has that tiny frown in his forehead, as if his dreams are pissing him off or a ridiculous animal attack happened again at the preserve.

“It’s okay Dad,” I whisper. “But please don’t leave me alone again.”

o0o

In days like these I usually feel like running over that fat kid who’s eating his ice cream torturously slow while he crosses the road. Sometimes I feel like an old woman can dig her eyes out in front of me and I wouldn’t even flinch. At the same time the smallest of things sets me off, things that usually doesn’t matter gets at me, like hearing people talk shamelessly about me behind my back or seeing Scott with his new friends. By the afternoon I’m usually already far gone, staring at my last period professor as he talk about literary shit, while I grit my teeth and will my tears not to fall as my mind gets filled with images of Mom screaming as her captor slits her throat and Dad losing his way into the woods, tired and scared and never to be seen again.

At home I scream. I try to pull my hairs out and drown myself in the tub. I do things that inflict myself bodily pain, trying to level the physical ache with my emotional catastrophe.

When I drank a bottle of pills at 16, I woke up at the Eichen House. I don’t want to remember anything that happened in the Eichen House because if I do, I might just end up there again.

“Be a good boy Stiles, keep our secret, and don’t return,” Brunski whispered nauseatingly close to my ear on the last day of my ‘therapy’, his hands gripping my arms painfully from behind. “Unless you _enjoyed_ your stay, you’re always welcome.”

I can’t remember anything that happened during my stay at the mental. A repressed memory, Ms. Morell explained. She said it’s the mind’s way of protecting itself, and if it will only make my mental state worse, I should probably avoid digging and triggering it. I’m sure I don’t want to.

And then I noticed my boss, Peter.

He doesn’t pretend that he knows me. Doesn’t look at me the way teachers and other adults does, like I’m a dog wandering around with a crippled leg. Pitiful, but beyond help.

He just looks at me with his arms crossed, eyes studying and intense. The type that would make school children run while their mothers drool. If he wasn’t unfairly attractive, I would’ve ran away too. I knew what I was feeling was mundane, pointless. Beautiful people always get that kind of life treatment, their actions always precious and they’re treated with much regard, and I don’t want to be another person who does just that. Worshipping people because they look like they’ve been carved out of a magazine issue.

But nobody ever paid attention to me like he did. He watches me work and shuffle around the kitchen while I pretend not to notice. He inhales sharply when I pass by, nostrils flaring when the fan blows my scent in his direction. It’s kind of weird, but I never miss how he’d excuse himself to the bathroom after that. It’s also impossible not to notice how he favors me among the other staff, how he speaks soft and slow when he gives me order or asks me a question. How he ‘accidentally’ adds an extra to my salary, brushing it off easily and saying that I can keep it because of my efforts. He stares at my lips when I talk, gazes at them like he’s spellbound. His touch often lingers, soft brushes in my arm or a protective grip on my elbow. Later on I wondered if it’s because he knew I cherished it, noticed the way my body instinctively inches closer to him when he’s close, like a flower yearning for the sun.

So I pushed my luck. Followed him one day to his office and knelt. Worshipped him because he’s beautiful, and he made me feel beautiful.

When he claimed me later - a few agonizing months later - after too many kneeling at his desk or in the bathroom and me persuading him to just fuck me because I don’t care if I’m just seventeen and that he’s supposed to be shagging my non-existent uncle because of his age, I realized I wanted him not just because of his attention.

He was also my friend, the first one after Scott. And he’s older, he knows things more than I do. He’s very smart, wise, and has ideals that are probably unhealthy for the both of us, that I can’t help but agree. Life was cruel for him too. Everyone knows about the Hale Fire. He knows the meaning of loss.

“I did terrible things, Stiles.” He towered above me, our bodies flushed together as his digits stretched my hole. “Tragedy broke me in too many ways and I don’t think I will be any better any time soon. Or ever.”

“I don’t care. I want this.”

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against my own. “I just want to make sure that you know that your first time will be with someone as fucked up as me. I might just…lose control.”

I shook my head, smiling for reasons I don’t even know. “We’re both fuck ups. Don’t you see how perfect this is?”

He smiles. “I know.”

He stretches me more for a few minutes, scissoring his fingers and occasionally rubbing at my prostate. “Ready?”

I nodded, eyes glued on him. He pulled away, and as he ripped the condom and slicked himself with lube, he was staring me like he could see my soul.

I inhaled sharply when he pushed in slowly. Peter was huge, the first time I sucked him off my jaw ached for two days. I can feel the stretch of his cock as it passes the first ring of muscle. He advanced inch by inch, his cock filling and stretching my walls, making me feel like I was being ripped in two.

He was grunting too, as if he’s finding it difficult to push it all the way in. “Tight,” he whispers. “Perfect.”

I wrap my arms around his neck as he bottomed out, a tear rolling down my cheek.

“Okay?” he asked. I whimpered.

He pulled out slowly, then pushed inside again.

And sometime later he did lose control, suddenly deaf to my pleas to go slower, his face buried in the pillow, growling like a wild animal as he pounded me relentlessly.

Everything turned black then, for reasons that I know doesn’t involve Peter. It’s suddenly pitch black, and I can’t move. My limbs were tied, the skin where the ropes are knotted burning with the incessant friction as I wriggled to get away. There were hands roaming all over my skin, probing at uninvited places.

_Be a good boy. Keep our secret. Don’t return. Unless you enjoyed your stay._

I blacked out.

When I woke up Peter was teary eyed, his brows knitted in worry and concern.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. He buried his face in my neck. “I stopped when you weren’t responding anymore and your heartbeat was erratic. I’m so sorry, Stiles. I don’t. I’m so sorry. I’m a monster.”

I smiled and petted his head, grazing at his nape. “It’s okay. I don’t even remember anymore. I blacked out.”

He pulled away and looked at me intently. “We’re not doing this again.”

It wasn’t his decision to make though, and despite his protests I managed to mount him successfully three days later, in his office, with all the workers gone. Peter can be really frail at times. He was never rough since then, and he made sure that I was awake and wasn’t hurting.

I didn’t remember the ropes.

o0o

I try to calm myself at lunch. I know that it will be a long day, since today is Thursday and Scott’s Pack is set to leave tomorrow, so I need to hold myself together for all the planning and stuff. It’s unbelievably easy. Stopping my thoughts from spinning out of control has always been difficult. During a New Moon and a Full Moon, once something sets me off it spirals into an unending quicksand. There’s no way out, no way to go except to drown.

This time it doesn’t take much effort, just like fanning away dark smoke and staying on guard to keep them at bay. I just needed to concentrate.

“So yeah. We leave tomorrow at 8pm for our trip to Lassen Volcano. We’ll probably arrive early morning, and then we’ll let Parrish do whatever his Phoenix needs to do in a volcano. On the way home we go the Seer Deaton has contacted, see what he can do with Stiles,” Scott was saying while I listen.

I’m sandwiched between Lydia and Liam, while Scott and Kira sat together opposite us.

“Uhm, aren’t you guys afraid that people may hear us talking about Phoenixes and Seers, here, in the school cafeteria?” I asked when everyone was done nodding.

Liam looks at me, his young face lighting up as if he suddenly remembered something. “The first time you came back from training you showed us your powers by putting a quieting spell in this table. Nobody can hear anything we say. We’re like, on mute on the outside.”

Kira smiles adorably as she recalls the memory. “And then we’d all suppress a laugh each time someone passes by and doesn’t hear a thing.”

Scott laughs too. “They’d even probe their ears while walking away, wondering if they’re having an ear problem or something.”

Even though they were laughing at something that involves me I can’t find the spirit to laugh with them. Not when they’re talking about something I don’t really remember happening.

Liam suddenly turns to look at me. “You need to go to practice later. Coach was looking for you yesterday.”

“What?”

Scott winces. “Right. About that. We play La Crosse, remember?”

I shake my head no.

“You’re part of the team,” Liam announces, the proud grin obvious in his face.

I don’t even know how to play La Crosse. Or any sport in that matter.

“Whadafuck,” I breathe, “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m in the team too,” Kira chimes in.

Just. Is this even.

I inhale, my stomach suddenly swooping with unexplainable emotions. I actually have a life. I’m a fucking member of Beacon Hill High’s La Crosse team. That’s like, woah.

“Am I like, any good?” I ask.

Lydia downs her drink.

o0o

Turns out I’m always on the bench. Most of the time. Which is a good thing, for now, since I don’t know how to play. Scott, Kira, and Liam, however, were doing amazing on the field. I can’t decipher if it’s because of their supernatural abilities or if they’re just _really_ good.

Coach Finstock blows his whistle and practically screams “Breeeaaaaak!”

Liam runs towards me, barely breaking a sweat but wearing a satisfied smile on his face. Scott was hugging Kira and doing some couple-y things at the edge of the field, while Lydia was talking to someone over the phone as she sat on the bleachers.

“How was it?” Liam asks, removing his helmet over his head. Up close I notice he was actually breathing a bit faster, his chest heaving just a tiny bit. I’m sure it’s not because he’s tired, but probably because of how playing on the field elates him.

“You did amazing,” I tell him with a smile. “You weren’t cheating were you?”

Smiling, he bumps his shoulder with me and I tumble on the edge of the bench, my bum hitting wet grass.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately standing and helping me up. “Of course not. I just love La Crosse.”

“You’re like a different person while playing,” I say as I return to my seat. “I didn’t even remember you were a freshman.”

“Really?” His face lights up adorably. He’s really young. “Thanks.”

He opens a bottle of water and drinks. “You’re good too,” he says after practically downing the whole bottle. Huh. So werewolves do get thirsty.

I huff. “You don’t have to lie. It’s really not a mystery if…if I wasn’t good. I mean, I’m not saying I remember playing, ‘cause I really don’t. But. Well, knowing me.”

“You’re not so bad, I swear. You just keep forgetting to drink your Xanax each time we have a match and you end up a mess in the field.”

Xanax? Isn’t that for people with Panic Disorder? What happened to my Escitalopram?

“I’m sorry. I don’t really remember.”

He nods. “It’s okay.”

After a moment of silence he turns his face to look at me. “You know, you really need to remember things again,” he rubs his palm together a bit nervously. “We need you in the pack. Not just because you’re our future emissary but, it’s not just the same without you. You and Scott are like older brothers to me, like the siblings I’ve always wanted but never had. I’ve always had trouble finding a place where I belong. But here, I just feel like I belong here, like I can’t imagine being in another place and feeling what I feel when I’m with you guys. We need you Stiles.”

I take a deep breath, not knowing if I should let his words sink in. “I don’t know Liam. I just…I’ve never had a friend for as long as I remember, let alone a group of friends. A pack. I’m not sure I would fit in. I don’t even know how to deal with what’s happening around me. I’m mostly just letting myself be dragged around, because of Dad. And I don’t really know where to place myself if I start questioning things. I might just end up in Eichen House if I start insisting my thoughts.”

He slings his arms around me and pulls me closer, making me feel like I’m the younger one here. “’Sokay. We’re going to figure this out together, all of us. You belong here Stiles, with us. With our Pack.”

Suddenly Scott’s plopping himself in the bench too, slinging his arms around my shoulder like Liam. “I’m starting to get jealous here. Please let me in your drama. I love dramas.”

“Alpha of Dramas,” Kira laughs and squeezes herself beside Scott, squeezing his cheeks as if he’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

“I hate sitting alone in the bleachers. Maybe I should sign up for the team too,” Lydia says, squeezing beside Liam. I have no idea how the five of us managed to fit in that tiny bench, but my stomach was making tiny swoops again, rising and filling my chest with emotions that I’m sure I never felt before.

Maybe I should ask Liam one day if this is how it feels to belong.

o0o

9:55 PM

I made sure to lock my window just in case Derek feels like barging in uninvited, again. I don’t know how we ended up having 10PM meet ups but I’m not digging it. Does he even know I’ve been shagging his uncle?

I reach for the Aqualung CDs, feeling happy that it’s finally complete. I don’t know how, but well. I play the album I haven’t yet heard before and close my eyes, letting the music fill my ears.

When I glance at the clock it says 10:05 PM, and Derek didn’t come knocking at my window.

There was a knock on the front door, however.

I didn’t move since Dad was still reading some of his files when I left him on the living room. I hear him open the door, and even though I can hear voices it was still inaudible. I waited. A few minutes later the door closed again, and I can hear Dad’s heavy footsteps going up the stairs, to my room.

I open the door before he can knock. “Dad?”

“Son,” he takes a deep breath. “Derek’s here. He wants to talk.”

“To me?”

“To us.”

I follow him down the stairs, and Derek Hale was sitting on the living room. I can’t help noticing how his gaze remains glued on me the whole time I was descending the stairs.

Dad clears his throat.

Derek looks at him, distracted. “Yeah. Uhm. Good evening, Stiles.”

I shrug and sits on the armchair. Dad sits on the couch as well. “Same?”

“Why are you here?” Dad asks when Derek just kept on staring at me, not even bothering to look at him.

“Yeah,” Derek composes himself. “The last time the three of us were in the same room together, there was a misunderstanding.”

Dad groans, burying his face on his hands. “Yes, explain. You said you do that every night. I can’t, I mean I can’t really throw you in prison because Stiles doesn’t remember things correctly.”

Derek nods. “I just want you to know that I love your son. And that when he starts remembering things correctly I will date him. And that I’m sorry to lay out my feelings like this, but if things were different I would’ve done things differently as well. Would’ve asked him directly myself.”

I look away, a brush creeping to my cheeks because of his words.

Dad throws his hands in the air. “He’s seventeen, Derek, for god’s sake.”

“He’s turning 18 in a few days,” Derek replies calmly. “I won’t do anything he wouldn’t want me to, I promise that. I’m just…telling you this because I respect you as much as Stiles does. I’m going to date him properly when everything turns back to normal.”

“I’m turning 18?!” I say, “I just turned 17 a couple of months ago.”

They both look at me.

“You’re turning 18 soon son, look at the calendar,” Dad says.

I look at the calendar and oh. Right. The date in this place is different.

There wasn’t much that was said after that. Dad just keep alternating between asking Derek interrogating questions and sighing with his whole being. I didn’t say anything the whole time. Just watched the two exchange cordial conversations. Noticed how Derek’s stubble are shaved perfectly, wondered if it will tickle if it touches my skin, if it’ll burn with the constant friction.

Oh God. What am I thinking?

Derek is attractive, it’s perfectly normal to be enthralled by his features, right?

“I’ll be on the kitchen, Stiles. You two can talk. Here. In the living room. With me in the kitchen. No going inside any room.” I heard Dad say to me while he looks pointedly at Derek.

“Oh. Okay. Uhm. Okay,” I reply.

Dad gathers his files and moves it to the kitchen. My eyes are glued on the floor. I can feel Derek’s gaze boring into my skull, and I don’t really know how to feel about that. What did I ever do to deserve this attention?

He steps closer, not too close in my personal space but close enough for him to notice my freckles and how perfectly normal my face is. I don’t even know why he’s bothering with me, he basically looks like the perfect model for a leather jacket collection, too perfect to be real. And I’m just, just a scrawny long-limbed pale anorexic tattooed with scars.

I look away.

“Hey,” He says. “I can smell you’re upset. It’s okay, I’m not going to do things that you don’t want me to. I can leave if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

I look at him. “It’s not because of that. It’s just that…why do you even bother with me? I mean, just look at me,” I raise my arms, losing my thoughts when I realized I have no scars, and my heart sinks a bit. Where did they go? They’re…a part of me. My own way of showing the world my pain. There’s a meaning behind each scar, different kinds of emotion tattooed with them. “And look at you.”

He shakes his head, stepping a bit more closer. He raises his hands as if to touch my face, but retreats when he realizes what he’s about to do. “Don’t say that ever again. I love everything about you, okay? I have put up with all the mischief you’ve caused me in the past, and I’m willing to keep doing that as long as I can.”

“I’m not him, Derek” I purse my lip. “I’m not him.”

He looks hurt, confused. But he doesn’t say anything.

o0o

When my last class the next morning ended Scott was already waiting for me outside the door, and I simply shrugged when he motioned me to follow him, all dopey smiles and dimples. Kira hugged me when I arrived while Liam smiled at me.

Suddenly, Lydia arrives and sits beside me, a confused look written all over her face. “Where have you been last night?”

I raise a brow. “Sleeping?”

She stares at me for a minute and then squints her eyes. “I found myself in the woods last night. I was on my pajamas, about to sleep, when I suddenly felt the urge to go to the Preserve. I did, and I saw you there.”

The others turn to look at us.

“I never went there,” I furrow my brows. I didn’t even go outside as soon as I got home. “I slept immediately after Derek left.”

Liam snickers.

Kira raises her eyebrows suggestively. “He visited you last night?”

I nodded. “Yeah. He talked to my Dad.”

“Hey,” Lydia said. “Back to me. What were you doing there?”

“I swear. I didn’t leave my room.”

She sighs deeply. “But I saw you. I even called you but you vanished as soon as you turned around. In thin air.”

“Must be his druidic powers. Deaton’s quite proud of him,” Scott says.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “He’s a druid, not a teleporter.”

“What was I wearing?”

“A black shirt with a triangle inscription. And a purple hoodie,” she supplies.

“Those are my clothes, yes, but I was on my pajamas last night.”

She stares at me for a minute longer and then sighs. “Just another thing I would add to my weird list, then.”

I smirked. “Wanna compare? I bet my weird list’s longer.”

“No it’s not,” she chuckles, picking a curly fries from my tray and eating it delicately. “You’ve been cursed, or something under that category. Or you hit your head and had a concussion.”

“No I didn’t,” I say.

She stares at me as if waiting for me to say something else, when I didn’t she slumps her shoulder in defeat. “You were supposed to go nuts when I took your fries, Stiles. You always do.”

I shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Lydia retains the frustrated look on her face and picks another fries. “You need to get better soon. I miss having catfights with you.”

I shrug again, not knowing what to say. I never had any catfight with her.

“But you shouldn’t ignore it. It may have been your powers helping us know what’s happening to Stiles,” Scott says eventually.

Kira rests her head on Scott shoulder. “True. Your powers have been so much useful and active lately, right?”

Lydia nods. “The more I use it, the stronger it grows.”

I look at Scott and Kira, and then suddenly without thinking I ask. “Hey, where’s Allison?”

The silence that followed stretched for two uncomfortable minutes, and I squirm in my seat as I mentally curse myself for asking. Their breakup must still be a sensitive topic.

Lydia looks like she’s close to crying. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” I shake my head. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. It’s not like it’s my business or something. I was just curious ‘cause…Scott was still dating her the last time I saw her.”

Scott freezes in his seat, and Kira inches to him closer.

“She died,” Scott says, face blank. His eyes are focused on the glass windows. “Some time ago.”

But the wounds are still fresh, I see.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter even though nobody probably heard, each of them lost in their thoughts.

It’s hard to believe that Allison Argent died. It’s only been days since the last time I saw her sitting with Scott and some other important campus people, like Jackson and Isaac.

I try to focus on Lydia’s words. I’m sure I didn’t leave home last night. I slept as soon as Derek left. Well, not really. Probably two hours later when I was done internalizing all the events that happened in just a single day.

But I did had a dream.

I can’t remember much of it, like any other dream. Just a blur, a face covered in white mist. Her hair was long and wavy, with a face that I often get glimpses of when I look at the mirror.

“Stop this, Genim,” Mom said, voice pleading. “Don’t do this.”

o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, if things are getting REALLY weird and confusing, I promise they will make sense in the near future. I promise.
> 
> I currently have 192 kudos. Wow. That's. My goal was to reach 300 by the time this fic's finished and the count is rising fast. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Talk to me on tumblr: http://shippingbullshitandwerewolves.tumblr.com/
> 
> Sorry if there's any error in punctuations, etc. I suck at noticing them.


	9. Genim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. God this past weeks have been crazy. My depression's been dragging me down again, but I've been okay lately too. I posted in tumblr that my laptop crashed and I lost EVERYTHING, all of my files and memories stored in that laptop. I managed to reset it, and it's working again now but I wasn't able to restore anything. So I had to rewrite this chapter (I was already at 9k when my bitch crashed) and now, it's down to 7k. 
> 
> CW: Graphic Mention of Rape (Don't ignore if you're sensitive to this pls), Mentions of Death, Depression
> 
> The story's now on Wattpad too, if you're more comfortable reading there. http://www.wattpad.com/104922997-the-road-not-taken-genim?utm_source=web&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&ref_id=48807729

On Thursday evening the Pack gathered at Derek’s loft to make the last preparations for our trip to Lassen Volcano. Derek and Liam went out to buy groceries and other things we might need during the trip. Scott, Kira, Lydia, and I stayed at Derek’s to ready other things like containers, bedrolls, and comforters. I wanted to ask if this was actually a camping trip but then there was a buzz on the door.

“That must be Parrish,” Lydia smiles widely and gracefully stands up. She opens the door and indeed, it was the Sheriff. _Deputy,_ my mind corrected. He was only Sheriff because Dad was missing.

It was somehow comforting to see him, like seeing again your favorite pillow after being away for summer camp. Even though he was the one who told me that Dad was gone, he took care of me for some time. He still does actually, he occasionally leaves behind different kind of canned goods and groceries in my doorstep. I confronted him about it the first few times, demanding him to stop, but he insisted.

“It’s for your Dad, Genim.” He said kindly, gently pushing the plastic full of foodstuffs towards me where I dumped it in his office table. “This is the least that I can do for him, after everything that he did for me.”

I glared at him. I was younger at that time, mind occupied with teenage rebellion, and still grieving for my losses. My defense mechanism was untoward anger to the world, black outfits and hoodies, eye liners, and glares. “Don’t call me Genim. Only Mom and Dad call me Genim. You don’t get to call me that.”

He nodded, smiling. “Okay, _Stiles_. But you have to take whatever I give you with nothing in return.”

I glared at him for a few more seconds and then huffed. “Better if you leave me alone.”

I grabbed the plastic and turn. But after a few steps I look back at him again, “Thank you. Mom and Dad would’ve wanted me to say thank you.”

He nodded, and when his face starts shaping itself into something close to pity, I look away and walk to the door.

“Stiles?” Lydia says, her tone accentuating that she’s been calling me for quite a few times now. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Lydia smiles and then looks at Parrish. “This is Parrish. Er. Wait, do you know him? It’s weird when I introduce you to him when you supposedly know each other quite well.”

“Yeah, I know him. He’s the Sheriff,” I say and. It’s not a mistake. I said it intentionally to remind them that I _know_ the life I lived. The others exchange puzzled looks. “From what I remember.”

Lydia steps forward and touches my arm comfortingly. “Stiles your Dad is the Sheriff. Parrish is,”

Parrish steps forward too and holds out his hand, “I’m Deputy Parrish.”

I hesitantly take his hand and shake it, his grip tight and _hot_. “You’re hot,” I say.

The people in the sofa snickers and Lydia chuckles too. Wha ~ oh shit.

“ _No_ , I mean. Hot. You’re hot, like really hot. In my hands. To touch. Oh God this is embarrassing,”

Parrish just laughs adorably, wrapping an arm around Lydia’s hips. Ohhhh. Okay.

“So you’re saying he’s not hot?” Lydia asks, amused.

“No. I mean, yeah. What? I mean,”

Suddenly there was a buzz on the door again and Scott stands from his seat to open it. Derek and Liam comes in carrying bags of grocery that could supply my house for two months, but that isn’t really what caught my attention. Derek was glaring at Parrish as soon as he got in.

“What’s with the hot talk we’ve been hearing from outside? You should’ve heard Derek growling. It was ridiculous,” Liam announces as he walks towards the kitchen.

Derek glares at him and growls really wolfishly, angrily perhaps, that sent the youngest werewolf running and laughing at the same time.

“Oh it was nothing,” Lydia says, and the singsong of her tone says she’s up to something fishy. “Stiles here was just finding Parrish _really_ hot. And he’s not even naked yet. Can’t blame him.”

Derek is now staring at me and I stare back. It wasn’t long before my stomach becomes warm and gooey and I had to look away.

“Yeah, What do you say Derek? Stiles was all adorable blushing and stuffs. You should’ve seen him,” Scott supplies unhelpfully. Derek’s eye flashes red.

I don’t know if this is a thing for their pack, teasing Derek and all but I’ve had enough of the attention. I walk towards Derek and take one of the bag he’s carrying, my fingers brushing accidentally with his. “His hands were hot, that’s all. He’s a Phoenix so, fire. Warm,” his eyes return to normal and…I can’t help but _feel_ because how can I do that to a werewolf?

I was about to turn around when he catches my wrist, the one that held Parrish hands, and gently guides it to his face, ghosting it around his perfect stubble. He wraps his own hand with it and touches his face with my palm, leaning into it like an affectionate cat, his eyes never leaving my own the whole time. “This is called scenting,” he mutters silently.

“It’s weird,” I mutter back and he chuckles. He turns my palm over and brings the pulse point close to his mouth, giving it a quick kiss. I shudder.

“Hey,” I said, taking my hand back. “No kissing. Dad will kill you.”

The others laugh audibly and I suddenly remembered we have an audience. I blushed and then scramble towards the kitchen, Derek’s gaze boring deep into my skull.

o0o

By the time we finished our preparations it was already late, and Dad had called twice already. He wasn’t fussing or anything, just checking how everything’s going and asking what time I will be home. Not that I mind, because I like it very much and he never really did that before. Maybe because I never really stayed out late when he was still alive, but the thing is he was never really this vocal when it comes to caring about me.

It didn’t made me love him less.

Lydia and Parrish went home together while Kira gave Liam a ride. Scott will be riding with me because we live in the same neighborhood, though a couple of blocks apart. Derek watched us go but I didn’t look at him, not once since he planted a tiny kiss in my wrist. I can’t describe what I felt, it was warm and whatever but there was something else too. It’s as if a thread of something bitter had coiled in my guts, nothing painful but certainly not comfortable. And when I glanced at the bills plastered beside the refrigerator and saw Derek’s name followed by a _Hale,_ I knew the reason why.

Peter.

“I’m glad you’re getting comfortable with us,” Scott says. He turns the CD player’s volume lower, so low that it was barely audible and I can’t make out Aqualung’s words, just a gentle hymn and the thud of drums.

“I’m trying to,” I reply honestly. “I don’t know why. I don’t want to think about whys. I’d rather be alone, you know. I’m used to that. I lived all my life like that. But then, this isn’t my life either. This isn’t how I lived my life.” I sigh. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

Scott was silent for a few seconds, and when he opened his mouth he was…singing along the music. He quickly turns the volume up so I could hear. The song was Good Times Gonna Come.

“ _You came to me from nowhere, with nothing, and no one, hold on, hold on, hold on,”_ He looks at me as if he was about to burst from smiling. “Come on Stiles, sing with me. _Goes to show, you never really know, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright.”_

In the chorus I sang along with him, “ _This is just aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh Haa Haa Tsaaa Niii Haaaaa,”_ and we both laughed hysterically because no matter how closely and how many times you listen to the song, that part is inaudible. And then, together, “ _Good times gonna come.”_

When the chorus was finished Scott lowers the volume again as we allow ourselves to come down from our laughing hysteric.

“Wow,” I said. “I never really thought someone else besides myself knows about Aqualung in this world,”

 _Which world?_ I ask myself and then, _What?_

“Well I didn’t had a choice,” he replied. “You play it nonstop. Everywhere, literally. I was forcefully converted.”

I don’t say anything because I don’t really remember. When I say things like _that didn’t happen_ or _I don’t remember_ his face morphs into something pathetic and pitiful which makes me want to repeatedly bang my head in the nearest visible surface.

“What would you do if the Seer tells us I’m totally fine? Nothing tampered with my memory and I’m as normal as I can ever get. That would mean I’m not the Stiles everyone knew.”

He shakes his head, “That’s impossible. I know you. I spend time with you nine to twelve hours a day ever since we were like, nine? And look, remember what happened at history today?”

“Yeah. It was very humiliating,” I replied, cringing.

“You got important bits of history wrong. Only you. Everyone us here, we know one American History. We know that there are no Twin Towers anymore, we know that…that…well I can’t really remember anything else right now other than that. But you get what I mean. Only your memory has been altered, while everyone else’s remained the same. That means something happened to you, someone manipulated your memory.”

I sigh. “I know that. But like what I always say, it means that everything that I know of for as long as I remember isn’t true. That’s my identity, Scott. That makes me _me._ If it’s wrong, if it’s…not the way it was. Then who would I be?”

“You’d still be Stiles. You’ll always be our Stiles.”

I wish I could believe him. But what about…what about Peter?

It was dark and dangerous outside but I pulled over. “Can I…can I ask a favor?”

He turns his body towards me. “Anything.”

“I want to see Peter.”

His jaw drops. He opens and closes them like fluttering eyelids. “You can’t! He’s dangerous!”

“I just want to see him,” I say lowly, sounding childish and pathetic in my own ears. “He’s the only person that matters to me. My parents died~”

“Stiles your dad~”

“ _They died,”_ I punctuated, taking a deep breath. “They died and I was alone. But Peter was there. He’s the only person I’ve ever had, that actually cared, that actually did something and didn’t look at me as the poor orphaned maladaptive boy. If he tells me, if he tells me that he doesn’t know me, then I’ll let you do whatever your Pack wants to do with me. It doesn’t matter anyway, Dad’s here and that’s, I’m sorry, but that’s all I care about.”

I look out the window. “But if there’s any chance, if there’s any chance that Peter wants me to stay, if he asks me to abandon you all and be with him, I would in a heartbeat. Because he’s the only person who’d do the same for me. There may be many of you who claims that you’re here for me now, but he’s the only one who was there for me before. There’s no way I will be able to let go of that easily.”

Scott makes that face again, but he nodded. “If that’s what you need. I’ll tell the Pack that we’ll drop by the Eichen House tomorrow, see if we can arrange a visit with Peter. I don’t think it would be easy, given his record, but you’re Dad’s the Sheriff. We’ll talk to him too.”

I smile at him. “Thanks Scott. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles back, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

We continued our ride home silently then, Aqualung ignored and long forgotten in its player. As the houses blur by and the lamp-lit street bath us in yellow, my heart tells that I meant what I said about Peter. If it’s love, I don’t know yet. Peter said he may not be capable of something as human as love. But he matters to me, that I’m sure of.

We arrive at Scott’s house and he scampers down the jeep, closing the door gently. He mutters a thank you and turns around. After taking a step or two he turns around again and walks back. He rests his arm on the window sill and looks me straight in the eye.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to see Peter. But then if you see him, maybe you’ll see him for what he really is. And he’s definitely not the way you perceive him to be.”

I look at him and take a deep breath. “I need to see it for myself.”

“I would die for you, you know,” he says, his expression a mixture of sadness and conviction. “Without any doubt. Do you think Peter can do that for you? Would he really?”

I look away from him and grip at the steering wheel harder. “I’m sure he would.”

o0o

When I arrive home Dad was on the living room, the creases in his forehead evident as he study the papers scattered on the coffee table. I closed the door gently behind me, trying not to make too much noise. A tiny creak still reverberated because of the quietness of the room, and Dad shoots a glance in my direction.

He lays the pen he was holding and smiles. “Son. I’m glad you’re back. How are you?”

I walk timidly towards the sofa and quietly puts down my backpack. “I’m fine. The Pack’s all ready to go tomorrow.”

He nods. “Good. That’s good. I wish I could come. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah,” I shrug. “They all seem like good people. Quite a variety.”

He didn’t seem to know what to say to that.

Noticing a loose thread in the right cuff of my hoodie I twirl it around my pinkie finger. I wanted to say something else to him, anything that would make this conversation less awkward than it already is. I know it’s me, I really don’t know what to say to anyone most of the time. It’s been so long since the last time I saw him, and even then we weren’t really the communicative bunch. But I want to try to do things better this time. I don’t want to lose Dad again. He’s being really wonderful, really supportive and all and I don’t want to lose that more than anything else.

I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know why or what happened while he was gone, or how I ended up having friends and being a member of the La Crosse team, but I can’t seem to care anymore.

“Do you really think I should go with them tomorrow?” I ask a minute later. “You’re all that matters to me Dad. I don’t even care if I’m missing important memories, or if the things I know doesn’t coincide with the actual things in here. We can just start again.”

He frowns, shaking his head. “But your friends need you. And based solely on how you’ve been this past year, I can see that you need them too. I don’t know what else you’d be doing without them.”

“Maybe things like going to school and getting a job? Have you even tried that, Dad? Living a normal life? Like a normal family?”

His frown deepens even more. “The Stiles I know wouldn’t say those things. You need to go with them son. This isn’t who you are.”

I can’t help the sudden sinking feeling I had upon hearing those last words. I have always been like this. No matter how many times they say that something’s wrong with me, I will always be this. Is it really that hard to love me?

“And what if this is it? What if you only get this, this me. Would that matter to you? Would that make you love me any less?”

“No,” he replies without missing a beat. He stands up and walks towards me, not minding the pieces of paper he managed to tread over when he passed the table. He sits beside me, his forehead creased with obvious worry. “Stiles always remember this. _Nothing_. Nothing in this world would ever make you any less of a son to me. Whatever happens with this…thing that is happening to you, I will always be here as your father. You will always have a home to go back to. No matter what mistake you do, what kind of mess you get yourself into, I will always be here.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and I lean to him. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

o0o

Dad trailed behind my jeep on our way to Eichen House so that setting an appointment with Peter would be easier. He and the Pack agreed to let me talk to Peter as long as someone (two persons, namely Scott and Derek) accompany me inside. I was feeling unsettled when I woke up upon realizing that I would be seeing Peter and that I would be setting foot on that place again. Something tells me that I shouldn’t go there, that visiting the place would be like walking in a place covered with mist full of terror, and dreadful surprises are waiting to pounce as I navigate the uncharted place. The feeling keeps growing and growing as we get nearer the institution, and a slow panic is creeping up to my chest and my lungs, making breathing harder.

“Stiles you’re not okay,” Scott grips my shoulder from the back. He’s sitting beside Kira who let Liam drive her car so she could ride with Scott in my jeep. "I can smell you're upset."

“Pull over,” he instructed. _“Stiles._ Pull over.”

I did. I notice my knuckles were white with the way I was gripping at the steering wheel. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just thinking about going in there makes me nauseous.”

The others stop too, and in front of me I can see Lydia going out of their car, Parrish following her. From behind Dad also went out of the Sheriff’s car and walks to us.

“Stiles we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Kira says from behind.

“Yeah you can just talk to Peter after we come back. Maybe you wouldn’t want to then,” Scott supplies.

Thinking of seeing Peter helps, but I can’t shake away the feeling of dread that is now creeping up my chest.

“What’s happening? There’s a parking lot inside the~Stiles?” Dad says, looking at me worriedly through the Jeep’s window. “What’s wrong?”

Derek was walking hurriedly towards the jeep too. Looking to my right I see that we’ve already arrived just outside the Eichen House, its large iron gates a mere walking distance away. The brick wall surrounding it are lined with sharp and rusting barbed wires, tall enough for climbing over to be impossible for normal people.

I’ve been there before. Inside.

_“You need to stay here overnight so we could be sure you won’t try to harm yourself again. Tomorrow you will undergo a procedure called ECT. You’re not legal yet, but your ward have consented already.”_

I remember protesting and wanting to go home, but my shitty guardian claimed I’m not in the right state of my mind to decide anything for myself, and that my recent behaviours have been posing dangerous threats not only to myself but to his wretched family.

“Stiles? You’re terrified. I can smell it from my car,” I heard Derek say.

Peter, I told myself. Just talk to Peter. He’s the only person that matters now, since your Dad promised he won’t forsake you. Do it.

“I’m fine. I think I’m starting to recall memories from the time I was admitted here,” I explained.

Derek places his hand on top of my own, massaging it gently, and I realize my hands are still gripping the steering wheel almost painfully. I remove it quickly and stuff it inside my jacket.

“Wait, you remember the time when you were possessed by the Nogitsune?” Scott asks. Kira goes out of the jeep and Scott moves to follow her. Derek opens the door for me, and I mutter a small thanks as I jump out.

My knees feels weak, but I force myself to a step. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was admitted here because I tried to kill myself.” _And because that evil couple wanted to get rid of me._

The others exchange puzzled looks, something they always do when I try to correct them. I’m almost used to it. 

“I’m diagnosed with Clinical Depression, so. That too,” I explained.

Dad steps in front of me and places his hands on my shoulders, looking at me straight in the eyes. “No you’re not, son. You’re perfectly fine.”

“Scott was right, maybe you’re just remembering from the time you were here because of the Nogitsune,” Kira supplies. Lydia, Parrish and Liam have also gathered around us.

I walk past Dad, his hands slipping away when I did so. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I fucking don’t know anything you’re all talking about!”

“That’s why we’re doing this,” Lydia says, her voice taking a new pitch, probably the one she unconsciously uses when annoyed. “Just calm down, okay? You’re the one who’s been wanting to talk to Peter. God knows nobody here wants to see him, or even breathe the same air as him. We’re doing this for you.”

I turn around. “I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO! I don’t know why anyone’s even bothering with me! Don’t you get how crazy this is for me? Suddenly there’s a bunch of shapeshifters and banshees dragging me around when all this time all I ever had was PETER.”

Lydia’s eyes water, but her face was full of conviction as she steps forward. “That’s bullshit! Don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Peter, of all people? Really? Right, you don’t remember. Well let me tell you, a lot of people have gone through hell and back because of that monster.”

Parrish takes Lydia’s arm and pulls her close to him. “We can’t blame Stiles for what he knows, Lyds. Calm down.”

I look at the others, and even without werewolf senses the air screams that they’re all upset because of me. This is why I hate dealing with people and making relationships.

“Come on, we’ll take you inside,” Dad says and something dangerous coils inside me.

_“Come on, we’ll take you inside. Stop resisting or else we’ll need to put you on restraints,” Brunski was saying as two large men were dragging me to my room. He looked at the clipboard he was holding and then says, “Oh wait, the doctor’s order says you should be in restraint. You’re on suicide precaution.”_

Scott taps my shoulder encouragingly. “We’re just here behind you. Do you still want to go?”

I nod.

Dad was leading the way while Scott and Derek was walking beside me like personal body guards.

The moment I hear the clanking of the gates as it open, I was immediately in a haze. I can hear people talking but their voices were muffled. When we reach the doors I stop on my tracks, my heart beating erratically.

“Can you do this?” Derek asks. “We can turn back anytime.”

I shake my head. “Peter,” I mutter.

Dad was talking to a woman on the information desk, and while the three of us waited I closed my eyes.

_I can hear my own voice, screaming as I used all my strength to resist being dragged inside my room. Then there was another scream from the guy at my left as I plunge my teeth in his arm._

_“Troublesome,” Brunski muttered with a head shake. He uncapped a syringe I didn’t even notice he was carrying. “Why don’t you sleep first? Maybe you’ll be more compliant when you wake up.”_

I hear Dad’s voice again. “We’re clear. They’re fetching Peter now. He’s been drugged with wolfsbane so we don’t have to worry. But let’s not keep our guard down.”

We were then lead to the visiting room. The hallways were dead silent as we walked, our tiptoes echoing around. We were still in the safe areas of the Eichen House, but there are intermittent shouting and unintelligible muttering. When we rounded a corner someone screamed, and I shudder visibly.

Scott grips my arm, not painful but tight enough to guide me back.

“This is the waiting room for patients under Class C,” the lady explained, sounding bored. She was looking at my father as she talked, but her eyes looked dead. As if the decaying minds in this place have corrupted the life out of her. “We usually don’t let any visitors for patients under that category because no shit, they are dangerous. But like what I explained, he’s been drugged with wolfsbane so he’s harmless. I don’t see the point, really. I doubt he’s even able to talk if he’s knocked up like that.”

We were inside a room, but I don’t really remember how we got there. It wasn’t too spacious inside, and the walls are painted white. There’s a single chair next to the glass window that is lined with metal railings. Through the window another room is visible, which I assume where Peter will show up.

We waited for a few minutes, my escorts not failing to ask me every now and then if I’m okay and if I’m sure if I want to do this.

And then suddenly, the light of the other room opens. Two large men was almost lifting Peter inside. He was mostly being dragged because he seemed incapable of standing by himself. They let him sit in the chair opposite mine, his head dangling uselessly to one side like he’s can’t help himself from falling asleep.

My heart aches upon seeing him like that. He was a respected person in town. His pizza place is a local favourite. Even though he’s done bad things to his family, I don’t think he would’ve done enough to deserve something like this.

“Peter?” I call, wondering if my voice will actually be heard by him through the tiny circle hole in the glass window. “It’s me, Stiles.”

Silence.

“I think they drugged him too much,” Derek was interrupted when Peter raises his head a bit, like a really drunk father hearing his four year old child’s questioning voice.

“S’that who I think who it is?” Peter asks, the loudness and intonations misplaced in his tone. He forces himself to open his eyes, and he scans the people in the opposite room. He doesn’t even bother to look at me twice before looking back to Derek, and then chuckling to himself like a drunkard.

“My favorite nephew! How sweet of you to pay a visit to your beloved uncle,” he slurs. “It’s been a while. I thought I will never see another person besides that three-eyed fucktard in my cell.”

He looks at us again, and upon spotting Scott he scrambles forward, the one side of his face pressed tightly on the glass as he eyes Scott creepily. “Alpha McCall,” he singsongs, laughing. And then his face morphs in resentment and with all his effort he screams “YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE AN ALPHA. I AM THE ALPHA. I WILL ALWAYS BE THE ALPHAAA!”

I stand from my seat, backing a few steps away from the glass. I have never been scared of Peter the way I was that moment. He’s a different person, all the loving face and gentle voice that I’m deeply attached to gone.

He notices me then, the moment I stand up. While his face is still plastered on the glass he angles towards me with a knowing, devious smile. “Easily scared, still, are we, Stiles? Scaredy jumpity useless cat.”

My heart clenches again, each moment that I see him like this more painful than the last. I take a few steps forward, meaning to be as close as possible until I heard Dad’s warning voice. I take one more step closer to the window and raise my hand, resting it on the glass where his forehead is leaning against. His eyes are closed, and I took my chance to trace his face with my fingers, close enough but still not touching. He has a messy beard and he looked thinner than the last time I saw him.

“You’re not him, are you?” I ask and I realize I’m whispering.

He opens his eyes, the confusion evident on his face. He leans away from the window. He studies me for a moment, and I lock eyes with him, wanting to feel the connection between our eyes, the gravity that powerfully pulls me to him, sucking me away from reality and bringing me to a place that’s only and solely _Peter_.

It’s gone. It’s not there.

He slumps back to his chair. “Go ‘way, all of you. I get it. You win. Leave me be.”

Dad opens the door for us. Scott goes out first. I look at Peter one last time, and a tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it with my hand and turn away quickly, following Scott outside. Dad must’ve noticed my tear because he sighs when I pass him by the door. Outside, Scott was leaning against a wall, his hands stuffed inside his pocket. Dad doesn’t close the door yet, and I realize Derek’s still inside.

I turn around to look back at him.

“If you want me to apologize, you know you’re not getting it,” I hear Peter say.

Derek just looks at him through the window, his face crumpled beautifully in sadness. “I know. And I’m not sorry about what’s happened to you either.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be,” Peter replies, head bowed. “Nor do I need you to.”

Derek nods mostly to himself, and then after a deep breath he walks towards the door. After a few steps he turns around and decides to go back to face Peter. He leans down to the hole on the window and says, “I’m sorry for the uncle that I lost in the fire.”

Peter looks up and then, and then he actually smiles. “I’m glad you know you lost him then.”

o0o

My inside was a bottle of emotions during our walk back. I’m not feeling anything about what just happened about Peter. Yet. I know that when I do, it’ll come rushing like a giant wave. Peter not remembering _us_ is a loss on its own.

The lady escorted us back to the main lobby, and we waited beside Dad as he sign some papers. Derek was silent and was studying the floor intently. I open my mouth to ask him if he’s okay when I notice the lady staring at me.

“You were that kid,” she blurts out. My heart hammers. “I’m sorry about what Brunski did to you and your lady friend.”

_I’m sorry about what Brunski did to you_

_I’m sorry about what Brunski did to you_

_I’m sorry about what Brunski did to you_

I remember waking up, everything around me slow and languid. It must’ve been the after effect of whatever Brunski gave to me, I remember thinking.

I try to move, but then I felt my hands tied tightly above me. I can’t move my upper body, but my legs are free.

It was almost dark, the lights coming from the window bathing the room in a lonely orange. The realization hits me and I scramble, wriggling my body and kicking at my sheets uselessly.

I call for help but no one came.

Just before the sun’s gone the door opens. I cannot see who my visitor was, for the head of the bed is facing the window opposite the door. I stop breathing. A few moments later a creaking sound fills the room as the door closes tortuously slowly, until it ends with a dull thud and the room was silent again.

The sun’s light is almost completely gone now, and any moment soon everything will be swallowed by darkness. The idea of seeing nothing while my hands are tied was terrifying.

Trembling I say, “Please, open the lights. Please.”

I hear a chuckle, and then, just before the last ray of the sun was gone, he steps into my field of vision. It was Brunski, his dimples showing as he smiles menacingly. He raises his hand and shows me what he was carrying. It was another syringe. He uncaps it, the needle shining for a quick second, and then it was completely dark.

“Please open the lights. I can’t see anything,” I repeated. “And what is the injection for? Are you going give that to me with the lights off?”

His voice is suddenly very close to my ears. “Afraid of the dark, are we?”

“Fucking stop this already and open the lights,” I scream in the direction of his voice. “I will tell the police. My Dad is the Sheriff!”

He chuckles again, followed by a _tsk_ _tsk_. “Are you a good boy, Stiles?”

“I’m not!” I spat venomously.

“Well you should be. I want you to be quiet and listen to me. Just listen to me. If you’re good enough I might even open the lights after I’m done,”

I didn’t say anything, though my breathing is hitching faster and my heart is pounding in my ears.

“I want you to know four things,” I heard him moving.

“First, your father did something really, really terrible to me when he was still a Deputy. You see, he’s a good man, yeah? Just doing his job well and all that. But he took someone from me. Someone really important.”

“So this is revenge? My father’s dead.”

A huge blow hits my face, the sound of the slap resonating inside the room. The impact was so strong that my face remained angled in the direction of the blow. “I said listen!”

“Second, I just injected a short-acting, mildly potent sedative to your right deltoid. Oh, you weren’t able to feel it because you were occupied with how painful the slap was.”

I shudder, panic and terror filling every bone of my body.

“The sedative is not strong enough to make you sleep. But it’s strong enough to make you unable to make any resistance.”

I can feel it working already. The room was spinning in sea of oil and black. My mind was in a haze, and I can’t seem to reach my own voice.

“Third,” I can feel rumpling of clothes. “I can see in the dark. I’ve been doing this for quite a notable time to perfect my night vision.”

I feel the bed creak as he invites himself in. I close my eyes.

“Fourth,” His voice is nauseatingly close to my ear again, his naked body pressed against my side. “I like young boys very much. Very, very much.”

He licks at my throat and a tear fell.

I was swimming. Everything was pitch black, but there were noises. I can hear my own voice whimpering weakly. Someone else was grunting and making obscene sound. There was also a sinful sound of skin to skin. Something slick was probing at uninvited places, some wet licking and biting. All throughout I was swimming in and out of consciousness. I can’t remember how long it went on, or when it stopped.

The pain came when I woke up later.

o0o

There are voices.

“No you have to bring him to the Seer now,” 

“Maybe he needs to rest.”

“The only thing that will help him right now is finding his memories back. If the Seer shows him who he really is, he’ll be okay.”

“Stiles?”

“Stiles can you hear us?”

“Let’s do it now. I’m going with you.”

“What about Parrish?”

“I’m okay let’s help Stiles first. We can just go to the volcano after the Seer takes a look at him.”

“What if the Seer can’t do anything?”

“There has to be something.”

o0o

“What happened inside, Scott?”

“I don’t know. It happened when the lady apologized about what Brunski did to you and Stiles and he just spaced out. He wasn’t even breathing. His dad had to slap him awake.”

“God,”

“He was mumbling something about Brunski. And…and…”

“And what?”

“And I think he thinks Brunski raped him. I just concluded based on the thing he was muttering. Nothing like that happened when the two of you were assaulted by him, right?”

“No. Brunski was just spitting some bullshit and then he tried to kill us. Parrish arrived in time and killed Brunski after.”

“Stiles is shocked about a memory that didn’t even happen. I really can’t keep on seeing him like this.”

“God. I feel so bad that I shouted at him.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“It’s not okay Scott. It’s not even his fault that he thinks he’s someone else, and I had to shout at him and blame him as if he’s doing this on purpose.”

“It’s not really his fault. Well you can just say sorry to him when he’s back.”

“He has to be.”

o0o

_“Stiles, I’m going through your mind now. Hmmm. It’s not tampered. No, nothing’s wrong here. Everything’s as it should be. Except. Except. Some of your memories are blocked. Stiles talk to me, talk to me through your mind. They can’t hear us.”_

_“Who are you?”_

_“I’m Seeley. I’m a Seer. You were brought here by your Dad and your friends. Deaton has contacted me too.”_

_“So, what do you see? Is there really something wrong in my memory?”_

_“Nothing’s wrong, but something’s blocked.”_

_“Blocked?”_

_“Yes. Wait. Let me see. Hmmm. These are…almost two months of memory that you’re not remembering.”_

_“What? Two months?”_

_“Yes. They’re the most recent ones too. Do you want me to unblock them?”_

_“You can do that?”_

_“Yes. The manner it was done was very complicated. But whoever did this used the same pattern as I do, so I can easily undo what has been done. I would even go as far as saying I’m the one who did this. But of course, that would be impossible. Are you ready?”_

_“I don’t know. Maybe. Will it hurt?”_

_“That question never gets old. It won’t hurt, Stiles. You’ll be surprised.”_

_“Okay. Go on.”_

_“It’s done.”_

_“I did this.”_

_“What~that’s….Oh my god. What. Oh my God. There are other universes? Oh god. What have you done?”_

_“I corrected a mistake.”_

_“Do you realise the gravity of what you did?_

_“I only wanted to make it stop. To make the hurting stop. The past months have been unbearable. And I was so afraid of being with Brunski again.”_

_“But you planned all this. You did all this and you made…me…another version of me block two months of your memory. For what?”_

_“You see…a lot can happen in two months. I was a different person before I learned the truth. And when I did, I despised everything. Blamed everyone. I figured that when I go here, and I don’t know anything about all that I have learned in the past two months, I won’t be so full of hatred and pain. I will just be me. But now I have learned the truth again.”_

_“Do you want to forget about it? I can block it, if you allow me to.”_

_“No. I don’t think so. Who knows what you will do with all that information. In fact, I want YOU to erase your memory about this encounter. No one will ever know the truth except me.”_

_“You can’t force me.”_

_“I can. Look at this.”_

_“Oh god. Very powerful. What did…How can anyone do such horrible things? I shouldn’t have uncovered your memories. You are a child in heart, but the truth changed you.”_

_“What’s been done is done. But I can also use it to my advantage.”_

_“You’re planning to take over Stiles’ life.”_

_“It has always been supposed to be mine. Now erase your memory.”_

_“I will.”_

o0o

           “I did this,” I mutter as the lost memories starts unfolding and play back in a vivid montage. The basement. The mirror. The goblin and Claudia’s Diary. Shamanism. Soul Weaving. The other universes. “This is…all of this…they’re all part of my plan.” And my voice sound distant, crumpled and unfamiliar in my own ears.

            I did this. I was the one who exchanged our souls.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really miss reading your comments. They give me motivations. OMG 200+ kudos! <3


	10. Stiles

As I drive home I can’t help the feeling of dread filling my chest. I want to tell myself that I shouldn’t be concerned. This world is not my world. If Liam disappeared and Scott never bit him, then it shouldn’t bother me.

But Liam is Pack. No matter how much I try to rationalize my thoughts, my heart keeps clenching, threatening the tears pooling in my eyes to spill. I can’t, though. I can’t cry _again_. I promised myself the next time I will shed tears is when I’m back home _,_ as Dad and my pack and the Beacon Hills I know welcome me in their open arms.

Deaton said I shouldn’t let myself break each time something different and unexpected comes up in this world, but still, it’s difficult not to. This must be how it feels when your parents tells you that you were adopted, that the most basic foundation of your identity is a lie. That the people you considered tied to you by flesh and blood were not yours. That you belong somewhere else. Everything you believed in falling around you like crumbling walls.

And this is _real_. People here have lives and they have been living like that for as long as they can recall. I’m the odd one out.

I turn off the engine and grab my keys. As I turn to climb off, the keys slip out of my hands. I duck and search blindly for it, my fingers tracing dust and cold metal. 

When my hand grasp something colder that sounded of jostling keys, I grab it. And then, as I raise my head, Peter appears in front of my jeep, standing like a total creep. The car’s front light illuminates his features, and even without his wolf form he looked feral – a natural predator.

“Oh god,” I mutter, scrambling uselessly in my seat. He looks me in the eye and shakes his head. With measured steps he walks to the side, his hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket, reminding me of Derek.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he announces.

I grip the steering wheel hard, the most unpleasant of memories of him flashing in my mind. With a deep breath I climb off the jeep, making sure to keep a safe distance from him. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what happened or is happening to you. And why do I smell a wretched creature roaming inside your house?”

Oh shit. I’ve forgotten about the goblin. I should’ve asked Deaton how to get rid of it, although my knowledge about it basically says it won’t leave the house until its owner gives it freedom.

“What exactly are we? What right do you have to demand for that kind of information?”

“Fuckbuddies,” he answers, shrugging like a teenager. I shudder.

“That doesn’t give you any right. At. All.”

“I’m your boss. You haven’t been coming to work for almost a week,” he counters. “I think I deserve to know why, at least.”

“As I said before I never intend to go back to your frigging’ Pizza Place. Or see you, in this matter,” I reply.

He looks at me coolly, and with another shrug he says, “Resignation not accepted.”

I throw my hands in the air. “Whatever. It’s not like I’ll move my ass just because you ask me to.”

“Oh. But you’ve moved your ass just for me many times before,” he smirks.

I stop in my track and takes a deep breath. 

After a second of better thinking I start walking again towards the porch. To avoid his proximity even though it’s impossible, I walk around him in an arc. Even without looking I can hear his footsteps following me.

 “What do you plan to do with whatever’s inside?” He asks, suddenly beside me. I glare at him and walks faster.

“Why do you care? I have wolfsbane in my pocket, you know. Have you forgotten what I did to you last time?”

“I haven’t and that’s why I’m here. I don’t think you’re Genim.”

I turn around, my heart stopping momentarily. He’s the _first_ person that actually thinks I’m someone else. And on top of that, he knows my real name. No one knows my real name. I think I’ve forgotten it myself. 

“What did you say?” 

He smirks, “That got your attention.”

I deflate. “Well do you mean it?”

“I can’t be that sure, but something’s wrong. I know you that much.”

Huh. So someone knows me in this place after all.  

“So tell me, Stiles. What’s happening to you?”

I stare at him a minute longer and then take a deep breath.

“I’m not the Stiles or Genim that this place knows. I don’t know how you learned my real name, which is shady as fuck, by the way, but yeah, I don’t belong here.”

He narrows his eye. “And you have no idea how you ended up here?” 

I sigh again. “Absolutely. Why? Do you know anything?”

“I don’t think so. But I may or may not know what’s happening to you.”

“I knew it! You’re always somehow involved when something bad happens in Beacon Hills.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Not like that. It’s just that…”

He’s waiting for me to voice out my curiosity before he would talk. I roll my eyes. “What, Peter? What do you know?”

“I’m missing two months of my memory.”

o0o

As soon as we arrive at Derek’s loft with Peter following behind, the Alpha welcomes me with a glare that could kill.

“What the hell is this meeting for? And why on earth is he with you?” He practically growls, claws already retracted upon seeing Peter.

I raise both my hands in a mock surrender. “Because he may or may not know something about what’s happening to me.”

“And? Why did you have to bring him here? You could’ve discussed your matters with Deaton in his clinic. You two have been discussing and making decisions without my knowledge anyway,” Derek says begrudgingly.

I glance at Deaton who looks at me apologetically. So he already told Derek about his plan. But why is Derek being such an asshole about it. All Dereks are insufferable.

I level the Alpha’s gaze. “Because you’re the Alpha? An Alpha who is verbalizing his dissatisfaction like an eighth grader.”

Behind me, Peter chuckles.

“Shut up,” I say to him.

Derek is looking at me like he wants to kill me eight times.

After a minute of antagonizing silence, Deaton steps forward. “Been a while, Peter. How’s your business going?” 

“Smooth. I hear it’s becoming a local favorite,” Peter answers.

Deaton smiles. “It is. Your Pepperoni is becoming the bane of my existence.”

Derek follows Peter’s movement as if his uncle would lash out any minute. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging obscenely. “Are we all here to talk about Peter’s Pizza Place _?”_

“Why the hell are you so pissy?” I snap. “If you don’t want me here I don’t want myself here either. I’m only here because I want to go home. I’m going to be your Emissary for a month. And if you’re going to be like this whenever I’m around you can find yourself another druid.”

Derek’s eye flashes red. “Go on then! We don’t need~”

Deaton takes another step forward. “Derek~”

Suddenly, the door of Derek’s bedroom opens, and Jackson’s head pops out. For the first time ever since I first saw him in eight grade, he looks uncertain and ashamed of his present predicament. The Jackson I know could take a nude walk of shame all throughout the campus and still manage to look smug and proud of himself.

Derek sends him a look. “I told you not to come out until I say so.”

“My mother called. She said Dad’s in the hospital again. I need to go home,” Jackson replies submissively, sounding small. Even without saying it directly he was clearly asking for permission. I shiver because I never thought I would see Jackson like that. He’s not the type who would submit to anyone. I figured long ago that even when he became a true werewolf after the Kanima incident he would have a hard time submitting to an Alpha. But here he is, looking at Derek like a proper submissive.

I also notice how his hair is dishevelled. His lips are obscenely plump and red. And despite the sad news he announced he looks freshly fucked.

Derek takes a deep breath and uncrosses his arm. “I’ll walk you out.”

It was an order.

Since Peter and I was standing idly near the door I had to make way. Jackson glares at me, for reasons I do not know. Maybe he smelled my attraction to Derek. Next time I’ll assure him I’m attracted to a different Derek. It isn’t my fault that my brain registers this, this exact head-to-toe doppelganger of his mate as the one I am attracted to. Seriously, he can have this Derek all to himself.

Even without werewolf senses, the air was saturated with the smell of sex when they passed by. Peter pinches his nose and makes a face, not even trying to be subtle. They smelled like sex, of sweat and perspiration, but not of cum. I want to be ashamed by how I know these things, but whatever. I know because I’ve had sex. With Derek. Just not this Derek.

And somehow, it made sense. Why Derek is so grumpy and Jackson was glaring at me. They didn’t finish because I called for an emergency meeting with the Alpha and the Emissary. It makes perfect sense because my Derek would always look like he would rip anyone’s throat when we’re interrupted and he didn’t finish.

I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts. Suddenly the one month agreement feels unbearable.

o0o

“What?! You do know that’s dangerous for the three of us. And I won’t be sticking any claw anywhere near him,” Derek declares after I have explained to them my plan.

“I’ve done it before!” I exclaim. “ _We’ve_ done it and nothing went wrong.”

He takes a few strides towards me, making sure his sharp gaze meets mine. “That isn’t the problem, really. The truth is, I don’t trust you. Which is why you won’t be our Emissary and Deaton won’t be leaving for Ynes Mon tomorrow. And bringing him~” he points to Peter, claws out. “…here, in my place, is not your call. You’re not even part of my pack.”

“Derek,” Deaton says. “Derek, listen to me. Stiles can be trusted. I can feel his life force. It’s a good force. And it’s powerful, you’ll need him here.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Derek declares.

“If you don’t let him heal at Ynes Mon his life force will burn out. He won’t be of any use to your pack,” I say to Derek. “You don’t really have a choice. Either you let your druid go or he will lose his power and be useless.”

“And why do you like the idea so much?”

“I don’t. I just care about what will happen to him if you let his life force rot away in here. Do you?”

Silence.

“Look,” I take a deep breath. “If you don’t trust me, I get that. But I need you to try. I know you find it hard to trust people~”

He scoffs. “This isn’t about me. This is about you appearing out of nowhere, claiming you’re a druid, overtly willing to be my pack’s Emissary, and then bringing that creature – him, of all people, the person who betrayed me - in my home without my permission, asking me to bury my claws into your necks as if it’s the simplest thing to do. This is like, the _third_ time that I have seen and talked to you in my entire life, and you’re asking me to trust you?”

I stare at him blankly, the words retreating away from my throat. He’s right. I act and talk to all of them as if I’ve spent a lifetime with them. And maybe I did, but not with these people.

I can feel tears brimming in my eyes. If I blink, a tear or two will surely fall. So I didn’t.

“I just want to go home,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “I just really want to go home.”

And no one knows what to say to that.

“I’ll think of it,” Derek decides after a long moment of silence. “I’ll think about what you want me to do with Peter and think about how I won’t slice off his neck instead. But you need to prove yourself, Stiles. This is all happening too fast. I just. Prove yourself first.”

o0o

Inevitably I had to drive Peter to his home, since he didn’t have his car and he went to my house by running in his beta form. Derek sent us off with a glare. Peter was uncharacteristically silent during our ride, save for some sideway glances he kept giving me from time to time. I tried not to think too much, too many tangled thoughts running through my head, pulling at each other helplessly. It’s literally giving me a headache.

We were just rounding the hill that was part of the edge of the preserve when Peter tells me someone is standing in the middle of the road not far from where we are. I squint my eyes to check but my vision is only limited by my Jeep’s headlight. I ask Peter what he can smell from the person’s emotion. Peter replies it’s fear and distress.

Not too long after that a guy indeed was waving his arms up in the middle of the road, clearly asking for help. I park the Jeep on the side of the road and before I could dislodge my keys Peter was already out of the jeep.

“Oh thank God,” I hear the person say. He sounds really upset. “I need help. My sister just disappeared in front of my eyes. She just, she just literally disappeared!”

I climb out of my jeep and walk towards them. The person’s back was turned to me, so I didn’t recognize who he was. As soon as he turns around his eyes widen.

“Stiles?” he asks.

I can’t recall who he is. I think I know him from somewhere in the past, but I can’t pinpoint exactly who. I can barely remember his name. “I’m sorry, I have like, a literal memory problem. I can’t remember things. Not exactly. I suppose you know me?”

“I’m Theo, your friend,” he seems to think better of it. “At least for some time. Before we moved. You don’t remember?”

Peter coughs. “May I just remind you that you said your sister disappeared? You can resume this little reunion later.”

Theo looks at me for a few seconds longer before turning back to Peter. His face broke. “We were going to visit the place where we scattered our mother’s ashes,” He looks at me again. “That’s how we met, remember?”

I shake my head. I never scattered my mom’s ashes. My mother was buried as far as I know.

“We were almost there, to that wide crater, and she was walking a few steps ahead of me. One second she was there, but when I blinked, she wasn’t anymore. She just vanished.”

“Can you show us this crater?” Peter asks.

Without saying another word Theo starts walking towards the hill. It’s a steep climb, and upon seeing Theo’s tattered shirt and dirt covered jeans I knew he stumbled in his way down to ask for help. He should have been bruised, but his skin is fresh as new.

“Is it far?” Peter asks a few minutes later.

“Yeah. I got back to the road in a rush.”

I took a deep breath and took in Theo’s scent. I opened my druidic senses and when I looked at Theo’s form, I immediately knew what he is.

“We need to go there fast if we hope to see your sister again,” I said. “You can both transform and I’ll let the wind carry me.”

Theo stops in his track and freezes. Peter just chuckles before releasing a roar, and in a second he’s in his beta form.

I chanted to the wind so that I can glide easily through the trees, but Theo still hasn’t moved. I looked back at him and he was staring at me wide eyed.

“Come on, I’ll explain later,” I said. “Your kind is supposed to be fast. Let’s hurry. I think we can still find your sister.”

He snaps back and with a violent shake of his head and transforms into a coyote. He sprinted past me without another glance.

o0o

We’ve been searching around for an hour with not even a trace to where Theo’s sister have gone. This was expected, but I was hoping I could find a clue to what took his sister and where. I’ve used my druidic eye, but nothing showed.

Walking inside the woods of the preserve felt normal. It was like one of our daily strolls in the wood looking for clues or dismembered bodies. I closed my eyes, and it felt like I was home. I opened it again and studied the trees, felt the air kissing my skin. I could be home or not, but it didn’t matter here. It was just me and the preserve, and I felt alive. If this is not my world, where is? And just like that I started doubting myself and my memories. What if all of my life was a dream and this is real. How else could I explain this life and the one that I know? My heart sinks.

“Stiles?”

I shivered upon hearing her voice. It was all too familiar, its saccharine quality, the strong attitude.

“Lydia?” I turned around.

There she was, my Lydia. The one that I know. She’s wearing pajamas and had a little make up, but it’s definitely her. Her hair was straight, just like the last time I saw her in my world, not the curly blonde that freaked out on me this morning.

“Lydia?” I repeated. She looked confused.

“What are you doing here?” She asks. “Are you okay?”

I almost cried. I took a step forward and reached out my hand, afraid that I’ll lose her in any second.

“Help me,” I said, a tear falling.

She took a step, confusion still written all over her face.

“Stiles?” I heard Peter call from behind, grounding me to reality.

Lydia’s form started flickering like a malfunctioning hologram.

“No,” I mutter. I run towards her.

She disappears.

“Stiles, who was that?” Peter asks again. I turn around.

“You saw her too?”

He nods. “Is she Theo’s sister?”

I shake my head. He saw her. She’s real. She’s somewhere out there. My friends. Dad. They’re waiting for me.

“She’s Lydia,” I say to Peter.

“Martin?”

“Do you know her?”

“I dated her mother for some time,” he answers. “She looked different. When did she learn to groom herself?”

“That’s what I was telling you. She’s not from here, just like me. But she exists, all of my friends exist. Just not in this world,” I reply, looking at the ground where Lydia stood.

“I have to go back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy it's been a while. Apologies to those who waited.
> 
> (If you recall, though I understand if not bec it's been ages, at one of Genim's chapter, Lydia asks him if he's been in the preserve at night. This is why she asked. She actually crossed over! But how? What triggered it? *Evil smile*)


	11. Stiles

After hours of roaming around the preserve trying to find clues about Theo’s sister, we finally called it a night. My head was throbbing painfully, and my encounter with Lydia left me in a daze. How did Lydia managed to appear? Are they also looking for me? Maybe they’re also trying to find ways to bring me back. But she asked me why I was there, and if I was okay. She didn’t seemed so surprised or alarmed to see me, the same way that I was. She was just confused why I was there. If that’s the case then that means…that means…the Stiles that belongs to this place is actually there. Maybe we swapped bodies. No, if we swapped bodies, why do I have all his scars and the after effects of his lack of self-care. What switched? Our minds? But I still have my power, my life force. The life force belongs to the soul. Did we changed souls then? What exactly happened?

My head throbs. All these thinking is physically straining my mind. But at least, I have inklings of ideas that may actually help me go back to my world. I’ll think of it again tomorrow.

“You do know that this town have multiple cases of missing persons, right?” Peter asks Theo.

Theo nods. “I’ve heard. My sister and I knew it was dangerous to be here. But we needed to visit the crater because that’s what we do each year.”

“How did you know that it was dangerous? And in what way?” I asked. Maybe he knows something that can help my case.

“As expected there had been no official reports regarding the missing cases. I don’t know how much the government knows about the supernatural but they seem to be covering all the disappearances and not allowing media to take coverage. But people talk. There have been rumors about people missing in this town. Campers who never returned from the mountains. A group of students who swam in the river and never resurfaced. A patrol of officers missing after pursuing a strange creature here in the preserve,” Peter looks at me as if gauging my reaction. I raise my brow at him. 

“I should have never brought her here. I knew it wasn’t safe,” Theo continues.

“Do you have any pack?” Peter asks.

“Just my sister. The wolf pack in the town where we moved never accepted us because of a history.”

Peter smiles, or rather, grimaces. “Then I welcome you. There’s a wolf pack here too, but the Alpha’s a bit grumpy and has extreme trust issues, thanks to yours truly. But I’ll be glad to help you while you stay here and find your sister.”

Theo looks at him, and then at me. “Is he with you?”

I open my mouth to answer but Peter interrupts. “In many ways. But it’s kind of complicated. We’ll brief you once we reach my place.”

“What’s the deal?” Theo asks. “You said you’ll help. It’s definitely not for free.”

“You’ll help us while we help you. Win-win,” Peter answers. “Come on. Let’s leave for now.”

I look back at the spot where Lydia stood. I just wanted to touch her so bad and ask her to take me.

I start walking with the two following close behind.

“Will I ever see her again?” Theo asks, his voice small.

“Depends on him,” Peter answers.

I pretend not to hear.

“He seems to be the answer. Or at least, the other version of him,” Peter continues.

I stop in my tracks and turn around.

“And why is that?”

Peter shrugs. His frequent shrugging is really annoying. “I’m missing two months of my memory. You claim to be not Genim. Maybe~”

“Listen to yourself,” I said. “I’m not the only odd one out. You’re missing two months of memory. Who knows what you did. You and your Genim. I think you’re part of the answer, Peter. Again, just like always. You’re always one of the proprietors of doom in this town. You’re definitely not locked up like you should be, so it’s no wonder this is your fault.”

Peter raises both of his hands, chuckling. “Woah woah. Easy there buddy. As you said, you don’t belong in this world. Don’t project your hatred to the Peter you know to me. I’m not him.”

I stare at him, his last statement hitting a chord. It’s a relief I’m no longer the only person who refers to other version of their selves. I start wondering if this Peter could be trusted. “Just…Just try to remember and not piss off Derek too much. Who knows, if you start remembering, maybe I don’t have to save this town.”

“So you _will_ be the savior of this town,” Peter says. “You said it yourself.”

I turn around. “It’s just me in my high horse. Ignore it.”

o0o

Peter accompanied me to my house to check if the goblin should be “taken care of”, his words not mine. Thankfully when I arrived home the goblin have already retreated back to the basement. Peter went home with Theo. He seems to be planning to build his own pack. I try to think why, but my head throbs even more.

I splayed my body on the sofa, trying to rest for a bit before taking a bath and going to sleep. I look at the clock, 11pm. I close my eyes, spots of white dancing around my eyelids. I start drifting into some kind of semi consciousness, my breathing going even, when I realized what the time meant. Dad’s supposed to be home. My heart hammers. The house is quiet, it’s the same the way I left it this morning. The lights weren’t even open.

I opened my eyes, jostling awake and shifting into a sitting position. I’ve been in this place for days, but I’ve only seen dad once. He didn’t even acknowledge me. I heard footsteps some nights ago while I waited for him, but that could easily be the goblin. On the second day that I was here, the house was empty, no, the house almost seemed like people didn’t live in it.

I freeze. Lydia said this morning that both my parents are dead. At that time, I was too preoccupied to take time to understand. And maybe my subconscious didn’t want to understand. What did she mean?

Theo said something about police officers disappearing. I scramble for my phone and dialed Peter’s number.

“Stiles?”

“Theo said something about police officers disappearing after pursuing a strange creature at the preserve. Is my..Is my..Is Dad…” I couldn’t begin. I couldn’t say it.

“Yes, Stiles,” Peter answers. “I’m sorry. You lost him a few years ago. You’ve been living in the foster system ever since.”

“No,” I muttered. “No way.”

I pictured the Stiles who lived in this house. He grew up with his mother who died when he was nine years old. He then lost his father when he was twelve. Just thinking about losing Dad, I already feel like I’m going to go crazy. How about him? He knew how it felt to be raised by Claudia. Losing her is much harder for him. And then he lost Dad. At twelve.

No wonder he’s been living like a ghost ever since.

“I’m hanging up,” I say to Peter.

“Wait are you oka~”

I close my eyes.

“This is not my world,” I mumbled to myself. I haven’t lost Dad. He’s still out there, somewhere.

“This is not my world,” I repeated. I splayed my body back on the sofa, stretching myself in a prone position. I tilt my head to side, the coffee table at my eye level. I wasn’t looking at anything in particular, just letting my eyes stare openly. I breathe deeply, trying to mute my thoughts. Surprisingly, my panic attack hasn’t sunk in. Maybe it’s the full moon.

“This is not my world,” I said again. I repeated it, again and again. Until the words etched itself in my mind, until I convinced myself hard enough to believe it.

“This is not my world,” I slurred before my eyelids finally shut. “This is not my world.”

I said it so many times that the words seemed to have lost their meaning.

o0o

That night I dreamt of the other Lydia. She was in my house. The place was completely empty, save for a single sofa in the middle. There were no windows, no kitchen or stairs. She was standing behind the sofa as if guarding it, her strawberry blonde hair floating, outstretched, defying gravity. She looked haunting.

“Do you know what this is, Genim?” she asked, pointing at the sofa.

“A furniture,” I answered.

A misplaced furniture, I remember her telling me. I was a misplaced furniture.

I walk towards it, stopping when I was a step away.

Lydia smiled. “Sit.”

I turned around. I sat on the sofa, placing my hands comfortably on the sides. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was in the right place. I felt like I belonged.

“You have arrived, and so the balance that once was. What was missing will return.”

I look around, all the other furniture reappeared. There were the windows, the kitchen and the stairs.

I was a misplaced furniture. But now I’m not.

o0o

I wake up the next morning thinking about the dream. I’ve been awake for a while, but I still didn’t move from where I slept in the sofa. I keep thinking about Lydia and the things she said. It doesn’t make _proper_ sense, but somehow it makes some sense. I refuse to think more about it, fearing that I might uncover things I will never be ready to accept.

I go to school without stopping by Scott’s house to give him a ride. He doesn’t need me. I will just focus on convincing Lydia to help us in solving the disappearances. Maybe I’ll also try and talk to Kira.

After my class with Mr. Yukimura, I wait outside our classroom to talk with Kira. I don’t think she could really help with the disappearances, but I guess I just want to talk to her. She has no friends here, and so do I.

Our eyes met as she walks past the door, and she smiles timidly before bowing her head down, clutching her books to herself as if it’s a shield. When she walks past me, I clear my throat.

“Hey, um, Kira,” I called, forcing a smile.

She waits a second before turning around, and when she does she looks around, it was as if she was unsure if I was talking to her.

“Were you…Were you talking to me?” She asks.

“Of course,” I reply, smiling genuinely this time. I stop myself from smiling too much, before it gets too weird.

“You actually know my name,” she says, chuckling. “That’s...”

“You’re Mr. Yukimura’s daughter; of course I know your name.”

_You’re pack. You’re Scott’s girlfriend. You’re awesome with your Katana._

“Oh. Right. Yeah, of course. Just, no one really talks to me so,” She says shyly.

There was a moment of awkward silence before I finally remembered why I wanted to talk to her.

“I need help with your Dad’s class, I was wondering if you could sit with me at lunch and help me with it. My treat,” I say.

She stares at me for a few seconds before smiling. “Yes, of course. Sure,” she replies enthusiastically. I forced another smile. It reminded me of how she first talked to us, when she approached the pack’s table to share her knowledge about the Buddhist concept of Bardo, the transitional state between life and death.

At lunch, she asks me what I wanted to know. I asked her to correct me whenever I say something wrong about World History. I learned a lot of things, leaving me with mixed feelings of melancholy and amazement. The more she tells me things, the more I start to be convinced that things really are different here.

Scott and his pack suddenly enters the cafeteria, Allison clinging to his right arm while his left arm is wrapped around Isaac’s shoulder. I cringe. What the fuck.

“Are they, are they three,” I ask. I look at Kira who is also looking at the three. She obviously has a crush on Scott. Or Allison, maybe. Who the fuck knows. I don’t know shit about this world.

“What?” Kira replies, looking at me still dazed. Definitely a crush.

“Scott, Allison, and Isaac. Are they three going out?”

Kira sighs. “Yeah, I’ve heard them,” she stops, as if remembering I didn’t know she has super hearing. “I mean, there were rumors. I think Allison liked Isaac, but since Isaac and Scott are best friends, they just kind of agreed to go out together. It’s actually really cute. Though some people disagree.”

Of course I disagree. If Scott is gay, or at least bi, I deserve to know first. And for the record, I’m Scott’s best friend.

“What?” Kira says, looking puzzled.

“I said that aloud, didn’t I?” I say. “Never mind. How come same sex marriage was approved anyway?”

She was still answering my question when Lydia suddenly sits beside her.

“Lydia,” I say, surprised. “Glad you joined us.”

 I look at Kira, who suddenly looks uncomfortable.

“I’m just gonna go,” Kira starts to say.

To my surprise Lydia holds her arm. “Don’t,” she says. “Stay.”

Kira seems to think for a while before deciding to go back to her seat.

“Do you know each other?” I ask.

“Kind of,” Kira says.

“I saved her,” Lydia answers. “When she was kidnapped because of her powers.”

Kira looks alarmed, looking at me worriedly and then at Lydia. “You can’t say~”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m a druid. And I know what you are.”

Kira stares at me, eyes wide. “No way.”

“You’re a Thunder Kitsune, right?” I reply, smiling. “And a bad-ass Katana-wielding one.”

“How did you know? And what’s a druid?” She replies, her smile and enthusiasm returning. “I’ve never met one.”

“I’m actually in training, I’m supposed to be the Emisa~”

Lydia clears her throat. “I need to talk to the both of you.”

Both Kira and I smile to each other before turning our attention to Lydia. I’ve never appreciated Kira’s jolly attitude. It’s so cool, how she reacted. She didn’t freak out and is actually interested. No wonder Scott liked her so much.

“About?” Kira asks.

“I dreamed, last night. About you, Stiles, I was in your house and there was a single sofa in the middle.”

“That’s the same dream I had,” I said. “You have arrived, and so the balance that once was. What was missing will return.”

She nodded.

“And then after, I dreamed of you, Kira. We were in a basement, and we were looking at a~”

“Mirror,” Kira supplies.. “The time has come, and so the balance that once was. What was broken will be restored.”

We all looked at each other. “What did it mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Lydia says. “But it seems that it’s all connected.”

“And so the balance that once was,” Kira mutters. “It’s the same with your dream,” Kira tells me.

I nod.

“I have a feeling,” Lydia starts. She closes her eyes, gulping. “I have a strong feeling that the three of us is the key.”

“To what?” I ask.

“To all the disappearances.”

I’m relieved that I didn’t have to convince Lydia to help. She still seems afraid, but at the same time she seems to be have resigned to her destiny. Right, her mom. Maybe she’s willing to help because she might also find her mom. Will I also find my Dad?

o0o

After that we ditched our afternoon classes and I drove them to Deaton’s clinic. I also called Peter and Theo, I’m not sure why. Maybe because I knew they were willing to help me, unlike Derek’s pack. Deaton was already closing the shop when we arrived, his luggage already waiting beside the door.

“I was about to call you, Stiles. I’m about to leave for Ynes Mon,” he greets.

I forced another smile.

We told him about the dreams.

Kira and Lydia dreamed that they were in a basement. There were broken pieces of glass in the middle, which Lydia asked Kira to put back together. Kira found herself suddenly in her Kitsune form, unable to pick the broken pieces with her claws. Suddenly there were thunders exploding all over the place, and Kira realized it was her. When the chaos was over, the basement was empty, save for a mirror in the middle. Kira approached the mirror and saw that she has returned in her human form. Lydia reappeared behind her, and while looking at their reflections, she uttered the words that Kira mentioned earlier.

“It seems to me that you have already figured it out,” he says to us. “I agree, the three of you are possibly the key to all the disappearances. Why and how, I don’t know yet.”

“What are we going to do?” Lydia asks.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer. I also don’t know,” he looks at me. “Maybe Stiles does.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. I’m not even supposed to be here. How come I’m one of the key?”

Peter, who was leaning against a wall beside me, suddenly straightens himself. He’s been staring at me creepily since he arrived. I didn’t mind. I can tell he’s been itching to ask me about last night. “Maybe that’s why you’re here.”  He reaches for my nape, and instead of jerking away, I surprised myself by leaning to his touch. He massages it, and before I knew it I was already in his arms.

“Are you back, Genim?” He whispers to my ears.

I scrambled away, hitting one of Deaton’s shelves and scattering some of his jars. Luckily they were empty.

Peter was looking at me, his eyes pleading.

“I’m not Genim,” I say to him, weakly and without conviction.

“Then why did you lean to my touch like you always do?” He asked, taking a step forward.

I take a step back. “Stop,” I said coldly. “Don’t push it.”

I look around - Kira, Theo, and Lydia were staring at us. Deaton though, has something else on his face. I look at Deaton sadly. I don’t know why. Deep inside, I was asking something from him. They weren’t words, just a feeling. I needed to him to do something for me.

Deaton shakes his head at me. “You said you two were in a basement,” he says, looking at Kira and Lydia. “Can you describe it?”

“It was  just small,” Kira starts, looking at Lydia. Lydia nods at her. “But it looked like a place where witches live. There were couldrons and shelves of jars filled with strange things. Like a werewolf’s claw, the tail of a Kanima.”

Lydia speaks up after her. “Before I saw Kira in the basement, there was a goblin.”

I look at her. “There’s a goblin guarding our basement.”

We all look at each other.

o0o

The others have gone outside Deaton’s clinic to go to my house. I was about to go with them, but Deaton stops me.

“I can’t go with you,” he says.

“What? We need you there,” I protested.

“You know I can’t mingle with other pack’s business,” he replies.

I raise my brows. “What? They are not my pack. Those are, we’re just helping each other.”

Deaton nods. “If that’s what you believe. But you know our rules. If I have to go with you, I’ll have to tell Derek.”

“Tell him then.”

“Stiles, he asked you to prove yourself. This is your chance. You might solve the mystery that has been haunting Beacon Hills for over a decade. After you do that, Derek will agree to uncover Peter's memories, and you might find the answers you need.”

“But I…” I said, suddenly unsure of myself.

He takes a step forward and places a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re not fine, are you?” He asks.

I shake my head. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

“You do know, Stiles. You know you play a role in this world.”

I couldn’t answer. I do know that.

“Are you…doubting yourself?” He asks.

_Yes._

“I need you to do something for me,” I say instead of answering.

“What is it?”

“Come back early. Don’t take a month,” I say quickly, almost mumbling. I suddenly realize I am shaking.

“You know healing our life force takes some time,” he answers.

“Please,” I say, voice wavering.

“Stiles, calm down.”

This was it. This was what I was feeling a while ago.

“Please return as soon as you think you’re okay. Just come back there again in the future. Stay there long enough just to make sure your life force will not be depleted. And then come back. Come back for me. Please promise me,” I plead.

He looks me in the eye, and he understood. He nodded. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

As I watched him go, I allowed my mind to think of the words I couldn’t say. I was afraid that if I say it, it would become real.

 _Come back, before I forget myself_ , I wanted to say. _Come back before I become him._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, something's going in with Stiles inside. I'm sure Genim has something to do with it. I'm so sure. 
> 
> Next chapter is Genim's chapter. Finally, some answers. *Claps hand excitedly*
> 
> (Thank you so much for reading. Leave a kudos. Comment, too. It makes me feel alive.)


	12. Genim

I lay my head on Derek’s shoulder on the way home. In all honesty, I don’t know what to feel upon knowing that I’m the one responsible for so many things. Now, I feel guilty towards the other Stiles. I can imagine how terrible and lonesome things are going there, in my world, especially due to the fact that no one knows me there. They’ll probably think I’m – he – is just going crazy, and he’ll eventually be reinstituted back to the Eichen House and spend his nights with Brunski. Or maybe he’ll make friends and make everyone like him. Even though I’ve only known him through the mirror for two months, his likeability and interpersonal abilities are his winning personality. Maybe he’ll survive, after all. And if I intend to live his life, I have to be the same.

I don’t know what to do now, really. The plan was to win father back, and maybe even live a life with friends, a pack. But it seems like I don’t have to win father. I just have to act like nothing’s changed, and all will be well. There’s no way for the other Stiles to return here. He doesn’t belong here, but I do. All these things here and the people who love him, they all deserve to be mine.

I’ve wagered everything I had, though I didn’t have much except my mother’s gift, to go to this place. Even Peter, the only person left I live my life for. It all started with Mom’s diary, the one she hid in the basement. Ever since she died, neither Dad and I went down to that place, for some reasons. Mostly because we weren’t sure we were ready to face whatever it was that Mom worked on in that basement. For as long as I can remember, she spent each second of her free time working there. When I started being curious, I was banned to go with here. But then, two months ago, when I was at my breaking point, I just had to feel her one last time before I end myself. So I went down to the basement, where a broken mirror and mom’s Diary waited for me. There, I uncovered the lie that shattered the remaining pieces of me. There, I was reborn.

In the diary, Mom told me that she preserved the essence of her soul, the one that contained all her life force and magical abilities. I thought she was crazy, honestly, and that she spent all her life burying herself in madness in that cave. But all I had to do was read aloud her chant, the one she instructed me to in the letter attached to the Diary, and I felt immense power coursing through my whole being. It was almost too much, I felt like I died when the surge of magic washed over my consciousness. There were many types of magic required for my success, all which I had to be familiar with and master in the span of two months. There was druidism, so that I could gather all the supernatural creatures I needed for the spell. There’s very few that’s as dangerous as a druid who doesn’t honor the rules of the universe and the pack which he sworn to serve.  Shamanism was the key, for shamans are adept in the arts of the soul. Soul Weaving, the dark magic that only the most powerful and ancient shamans know, was the one that solidified the transfer. And then the goblin, the only other living creature that was actually my friend aside from Peter and Scott McCall. The goblin knew how to restore the mirror that was the window to the other universes.

All of them would’ve taken me decades to learn and master, but thanks to Claudia who did all the work – all I had to do was read aloud a spell that would transfer the fruit of her hard work to mine. She won’t be happy with how I chose to use her power. She had other wishes.

But then again, I don’t know what to do anymore. I had to erase my memories of the past two months, for I needed to become the person that I was before I received my mother’s gifts, before I learned the truth that crushed my belief to the only people I loved and trusted my whole life. I needed the Genim that my parents would’ve been proud of, not the one filled with power, hatred, and thirst for the life of someone else. I lost control. But now, now that I’ve touched that part of me again, the one that would be kind enough to pity the other Stiles and the life that he will be living, I think I’m back in control. I both have the power of the person I became after learning the truth, and the person that I was two months back. Peter is the only thing lacking. But then, that was the sacrifice I had to make. It was the most important trade I had to do.

“Everything all right, Stiles?” Scott asks, looking at me from the rear view mirror. “Are you really back?”

“Yeah,” I reply, smiling. “I don’t remember everything yet, and some memories are still mixed up. But the Seer said I will be fine in a few weeks or so. Other than that, I think I’m good.”

“You no longer think you’re not our Stiles?” Lydia asks from beside me.

I shake my head at her. “Totally. I mean, how crazy is that?”

Suddenly, Derek grabs my chin and makes me face him.

“I missed you,” he whispers, though everyone could hear. “Don’t leave me again.”

And then he kisses me. I am shocked that he kissed me in front of everyone. From what I’ve seen in the mirror, he and Stiles tried to hide their relationship from everyone, since they’re mostly just fucking around like me and Peter.

“So, will these kisses be a regular thing, now?” Kira asks from beside Scott. She is smiling.

Kira. I had to orchestrate her kidnapping by using William Barrow in order for her foxfire to merge the broken pieces of the mirror. It’s the thunder from her mother’s tail that created the mirror. It was known, according to the unpublished book that my mother was drafting, that the thunder is the only thing that is constant across the universes. It doesn’t recognize the fabric that separates all the worlds from each other. And by using Kira’s foxfire – her lightning and thunders - I managed to forge back the mirror.

“Stiles and I still has to talk about it,” Derek replies, eyes not leaving mine. “But I’m not letting him go anymore, that’s for sure.”

I smile at him. Will he be enough to replace the hole that Peter left?

I look away. Peter can never be replaced.

“But if it’s just a witch curse,” Lydia starts. “Then why did you have this alternate memory of your life? You like, knew everything, but it’s all messed up. You have this completely different life, from your birth up until now. Can a witch really do that?”

“What are you trying to say, exactly?” I snap at her, turning too quickly. She looks surprised. I compose myself. I can’t fuck this up. I shake my head, “I’m sorry, Lyds.” I reach for her hand and held it, squeezing. “I’m here now. I’m back. There’s no need to worry about anything.”

She jerks away her hand, as if mine burned her. She stares at me for a few seconds before looking away. “I’m sorry too. You just feel really…different. I don’t know. And it didn’t help that we couldn’t talk to the Seer ourselves. I won’t mind knowing exactly what happened to you.”

She irritates me. But I need to control myself. What would the other Stiles do? No, what would my old self do?

I shuffle closer to Derek, hiding my face in his chest. “I won’t blame anyone if I can’t be trusted anymore. It’s just that, my memories are still mixed up and I,” I sniff and let some tears fall. Crying isn’t at all difficult. I think I’ve spent half of my life crying. “I’m sorry. The Seer said that the thing he did with my mind can put me off, not to mention what the witch did to my mind. My emotions are just everywhere right now. I’m really sorry.”

Derek wraps his arms around me and pulls me even closer, if that’s possible.

Lydia speaks again, her high pitch really stringing at my nerves. “I didn’t say you couldn’t be trusted, Stiles. I just meant~”

“Lydia,” Derek warns. “He’s tired. He’s back now. That’s what important.”

A moment passes before Lydia releases a breath. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”

I hug Derek tighter. “It’s okay.”

o0o

Derek and the pack continued their way to the Lassen Volcano for Parrish to replenish his power and gain control of his other self. Lydia and the pack had to be there, just in case Parrish can’t control himself and burn the world. I asked if they would kill him if that happens, and Scott looked like I just kicked him in the face.

I told them I’m tired and I want to go home. I knew it was uncharacteristic of the Stiles, but I do need to go home to prepare myself for when they all return. By the time they’re back, I have to be the Stiles that they all know. With modifications. First, I can’t always be happy. That’s just not me. Without my medication, my emotions can literally explode anytime. So I guess, I have to tell them I have Clinical Depression. I just have to come up with a valid reason.

Dad drove me home. It’s easy and comfortable this time, with him acting like everything really is back to normal and me just being genuinely excited to enjoy this version of him. It makes me feel a bit bad when I think of my own father. I feel like I’m betraying him. But he’s gone now, and I still have this. I have to make the most of it.

When we arrive home, I lock myself to my room while Dad volunteers to cook dinner, saying that I don’t have to worry because he’ll be cooking healthy foods just because he’s liking how I don’t complain about everything. Noted.

I walk around the other Stiles’ room, noting now the significant differences of our personality that is reflected within these four corners. I move the CD rack parallel to the bed, smiling from ear to ear when I remembered the Aqualung albums were complete. I remove the wall posters that I can’t relate with. But I left the giant board of Beacon Hill mysteries untouched. It won’t be Stiles without this board. I remember watching him just stare at this board for hours while he thinks, his legs bouncing and his hands always itching to tap something. Yes, his hyper activeness. Noted.

After a while Dad calls me for dinner. He tells me he cooked my favorite “healthy” food, and I totally hate that food but I guess that’s just part of the things I have to live with.

When dinner’s over, I wash the dishes even though Dad is surprised I volunteered, saying that when it’s my turn to wash the dishes, I wait until the next day.

I go to my room after and searches for things that would describe Stiles Stilinski as a person. I looked under the bed and found the toys that he and Derek would sometimes have fun with. I didn’t touch them. I just felt like I shouldn’t. I don’t think Derek and I would be doing any sexy times anymore. I still haven’t made up my mind yet, but Peter is the only person I want to sleep with. Derek, he’s hot – understatement, I admit – but I don’t have feelings for him. Maybe I’ll break it to him, slowly, how I was just really in it for the fun and not the emotional stuffs. Yeah, that probably would be it.

If there’s one thing that would make this a thousand times easier, is if Stiles kept a diary. But from what I’ve seen in the mirror, he never has the time to pull out a notebook to write a summary of his day. Probably most of the time he spends his day trying to save his friends or this town, so I’ll give him that. I go the closet, and in the bottom I see boxes. Inside the boxes were his old notebooks from over the years, as well as some photos. If there’s one word to describe middle school for him, it would be Lydia Martin. All his notebooks from middle school are scribbled with the Banshee’s name. Although I get why.

I open his desktop, and there’s a password required. I try Derek. No. Lydia. No. Stiles. No. Birthdays. No. Name and birthdays. Still no.

I open his smartphone and spends hour looking at his search history. He watches a lot of gay porn. A lot. No wonder Derek told him he’s creative in bed. I look at his messages, tries to read as much as I can. When my eyes start to hurt, probably three hours later, I stop. I look at the clock, 9:55 pm. Five minutes, and for sure, Derek will come knocking at the window. Or maybe not, since he made a speech and talked Dad into allowing his son to have an underage relationship with a wolf. At least, he made an effort. That’s something he and Peter have in common. And they’re both good in bed. Like, really good. I’ve watched Derek and Stiles a couple of times fucking, and it’s really hot. Don’t judge me. I think anyone in my place would do the same.

My phone rings, and I fish it out of my pocket. It’s Derek’s picture, he was looking all grumpy, but the name is Sourwolf. The photo to name ratio is very accurate.

“Hey,” I answer. “I was just about to sleep.”

“Really? You weren’t waiting for me?” He asks, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

I chuckle. “No. Dad told us to quit it, remember?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Did you mean it? All those things you said to him?”

“Yes. I respect your father as much as I respect you. If that means blue balls until you’re of legal age, then I’ll manage.”

I didn’t reply. It won’t be unfair for him to wait, when I don’t plan to be in a relationship with him.

“Actually, Derek, I…” I stop, thinking. Should I tell him? Or should I wait? I think about how Derek managed to stop Lydia from her endless questions this morning just because he was looking out for me. Derek loves Stiles. If I fuck up unknowingly with the pack, he would surely choose my side and help me reintegrate myself to them. And until I am confident enough to secure a place in the pack, maybe I’ll keep him by my side.

“Is there any problem?”

“No,” I answer. “Not at all. Actually. I was just…I just wanted to tell you I’m not wearing anything right now.” Nope. I’m fully clothed.

“You little~” he groans. “You’re a bad person. You know I’m having a hard time as it is.”

“I’m hard too,” I reply, shivering. Actually, I’m starting to be.

“Really?” He asks, voice low and sexy. I gulp, sure that he could hear. “Are you touching yourself?”

“No,” I reply. “Derek, what about Dad?”

He groans. “My erection immediately disappeared the moment you said Dad. It’s like a useless hotdog now.”

I laugh aloud, curling my body because of the effort. I don’t think I have ever laughed like this before.

“Stop teasing me if you won’t be responsible for it,” he says. “It might be the cause of my death.”

“You can touch yourself,” I say. Stop. I need to stop.

“Really?” He asks again, voice being ridiculously hot and low.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

“I’m listening.”

“Touch your nipples,” I say. I let go of the phone for a while, shimmying out of my pants, but not completely. Just enough to wrap a hand around my shaft.

I don’t bother to remove my shirt. I put my hands below it, touching my nipple. “Are you touching it now?” 

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Pinch it,” I say. We seem to have done it at the same time, judging by our moans.

“What now?” he asks.

I gulp. “Slide your hands through your abdominals, imagine it’s my hand, my fingers touching your skin.”

“Yeah,” I hear him. “I love your long fingers.”

“Slide it slowly till you reach your cock. Tease yourself. Imagine my long fingers wrapped around your length, my thumb rubbing across the head,”

He groans loudly. I can imagine his amazingly sculpted body arching in his sheet ~

“Stiles?” I hear Dad’s voice outside the door.

“FUCK,” I groan, trying to keep my voice low. Did I lock the door? “It’s Dad.” 

Derek remains quiet on the other line, so I just end the call and pull my pants up.

I run to the door and opens it, smiling. “Hey Dad, I was just~”

“I don’t want to know,” he replies, closing his eyes. “There’s a reason why I ask you to wash your own sheets.”

I chuckle. I stop immediately when he gives me a look. “I’m a teenager,” I reply, raising my hands exaggeratedly.

My heart warms. I never thought I would have this kind of conversation with him. Ever.

“I don’t ever forget. I would be traumatized if I would,” he replies. “Anyway, I was just checking if you’re okay. Derek told me you’re not feeling very well? How do you feel now?”

“Better, I guess. Maybe I just need to sleep.”

“Okay then,” he says. “Good night, son.”

I smile, and before he turns around, I put my arms around his hips, hugging him. “Good night, Dad.”

I can feel him smiling. “Goodnight buddy.”

o0o

The next day, I woke up feeling more energized than ever. I don’t think I have felt more alive. Maybe because I’m in the place where I’m supposed to be. I take a bath, appreciating the body I’m in. No wonder Derek is crazy about him. All these toned muscles hiding underneath his endless layers of clothes. His skin is also milky smooth, like a baby’s, even though I haven’t really touched one. I should probably do some squats if I want to maintain the firmness of this butt.

I look at the mirror, admiring my features. It _is_ my features, even though I’m a lot more thinner. Peter always admired my lips, said it’s his biggest weakness. He hates it when I pout. I get why now.

Even though Stiles never seem to care more about his appearance, he’s gorgeous. And I think that’s his charm, how he walks around carelessly and tripping on the most ridiculous things, and yet still remaining adorable and attractive. I grab a razor, shaving the sides of my head and trimming where it is needed. Guys in my world adored this haircut. I think it was because of a popular solo artist named Zayn Malik. I took my phone and looked him up to make sure I got his look.  (I found out that in this world, he’s in a boy band.)

I opened his closet and smiled at the variety of clothes. His shirts are of all colors and sizes. He has checkered button ups and hoodies. I pick up a tight light orange t-shirt, something he probably haven’t wore in a while because it’s a bit small. It hugged my shape deliciously. I also put on a black skinny jeans, and some high cut Nike shoes. I look amazing.

I think my spell has taken effects. The more days I spend here, the more I will be picking up his personality, even mannerisms. Soon, his memories will resurface. It’s supposed to delete my own, but I didn’t want that to happen. Even though my life was at its worst back in that world, there are still people whose memories I need to cherish. The same things will happen with Stiles. Soon enough, he’ll become like me, with the memories of his life here. It would be really confusing for him. I wish…I wish I didn’t cast that spell. He would have enough hard time living in that hell hole. He didn’t need my memories and my depression. I try not to think too much about it.

When I arrive at school, people surely looked at me twice. It felt good.

o0o

“Woah,” Scott says, stopping in his tracks. “Dude. That haircut. Why?”

I laugh at his reaction. “It doesn’t suit me, does it?”

“It’s good. Really good. You just look different.”

“Scott, learn a thing or two from him,” Kira says, catching up with him. “He looks great. During our class, the girls behind him actually can’t look away. His shoulders are just,”

Scott frowns at her. “Seriously? I think it’s time we put a label in our relationship. Stiles,” he looks at me, setting down his tray. “I know you and Derek have amazing gay sex all the time, but just to make sure, Kira is off limits.”

I blush. I actually blushed. That never happened before. Kira sits beside Scott and kisses his cheek, smiling at him adorably. “I’m sure Stiles doesn’t have abs like yours.”

Scott beams at her.

“Says who?” I reply. Scott sends me a look. I laugh.

“Where are the others?” I ask.

“Lydia and Liam doesn’t have afternoon classes today. And they’re kind of busy.” Kira answers, smiling. Scott smiles too. I’m sure they’re hiding something.

o0o

At Lacrosse practice, of course I sucked. I didn’t know what to do. I’ll Google how to play later. I don’t know when the memories of it would resurface. Coach made me run ten laps because I was so bad. When I was brimming with sweat, I took off my shirt. After a while, I could distinctly hear the girls in the bleachers giggling at each other. I look at them, and they were looking at me. They wave. I wave back. This feels really great.

“Dude,” Scott runs up to me. “You do have abs. Why am I only seeing this now?”

“Seriously? You never peeked? Even in the locker rooms after practice?” I ask.

“You never change clothes until we’re all done. What’s up with that? I thought you were just insecure of a third nipple or a beer belly. But you actually have abs!” He rambles excitedly. He puts his arm around me. “You surprise me.”

I laugh. “And we’re sweaty and we stink,” I said, shimmying away from him. Too much contact, less personal space. “Let’s go shower.”

Scott looks at me, puzzled. “You never complained about our smell before.”

“I’m complaining now,” I reply. “Come on.”

He shrugs and walks with me to the lockers.

“Let’s go to Derek’s loft after this,” he tells me with a wide smile. “We need to discuss Parrish.”

o0o

After class, I drove Scott and Kira to Derek’s loft. The two weren’t subtle. I’m sure something’s going to happen. When we stood outside the door, I open my druidic senses and I could feel the others inside.

I open the door and then.

“SURPRISE!” The pack echoes. I am too shocked to even react. I though these things only happen in the movies.

There was a confetti showered to my face, courtesy of Liam.

“Happy birthday!” They say. Scott puts his arm around my torso and lifts me effortlessly. He carries me to the middle of the living room where the others are.

When Scott stops, he didn’t let go of me, instead he sniffs my neck. I try to scramble away, but then everyone else started throwing their arms around me. Everyone. Even Parrish.

They were touching and sniffing me all over. Scent marking, I suddenly remember. They have done this a couple of times before. I’m too astonished to even move.

“You forgot your birthday again, didn’t you?” Lydia asks. She’s touching my arm.

I nod. Actually, my birthday have passed. It’s October there, in my world. 

After a while, they untangle themselves, obviously satiated.

And then, a guitar plays from somewhere behind. I turn around to see Derek smiling at me, a guitar in his arms. His biceps are bulging obscenely. He looked really hot.

“I love your hair, but I don’t like what you’re wearing,” he says.

“He looks hot, look at how his shirt is clinging to his chest, shoulders, and back. Look at that butt,” Lydia rambles. “I’m a proud mom.”

We all laughed.

“I haven’t played ever since my family died,” Derek says, eyes not meeting anyone. “So forgive me if I suck.”

He walks towards me, and starts playing. He sings. He actually sings. It’s “And I love you So,” by Don McLean.

Someone closes the lights, but a second later, a new set of lights opens. There were rows of tiny Christmas lights hanging above my head, but instead of the usual colorful show, there’s only one color. Derek looked beautiful, his face bathed in yellow light. He kept on singing as my heart beat loudly in my chest. His voice was very handsome and sincere. We just looked at each other. This must be how drowning feels like.

_“And I love you so. The people ask me how, How I've lived till now. I tell them I don't know. I guess they understand. How lonely life has been. But life began again The day you took my hand. And, yes, I know how lonely life can be...”_

The pack starts singing along with him in the chorus, all the while looking at me with loving faces. And I cried. I couldn’t help it. This is the first time I have been given so much love and attention. When the song ended, Derek started another one. This time it’s “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran.

Liam walks towards me, holding a blue rose in his hands. “I’m so glad to be a part of this pack. You’ve been a great big brother to me, big bro. Happy birthday.”

He hands me the rose. “We all want to stay but Derek has other plans,” he winks at me. I shake my head at him with a smile. “Make his toes curl,” he continues. “This was all his idea.”

I ruffle his hair. “Go, then. I’ll make it up to him. I look at Derek again, who was smiling as he sang. I smile back.

Next, Lydia comes near me and gives me a pink rose. “I’m sorry for the past few days. I love you, you know. I just care about you more than you’ll ever know. So forgive me if I’m being too much sometimes. Happy birthday.”

I hug her. “Thank you, Lydia. I’ll be good, don’t worry. Soon enough.”

As soon as I said the last few words, I regret it. Lydia looks at me for a second longer, then shakes her head. “I got the weird feeling again. Anyway, just ignore me.”

She kisses me in the cheek.

Parrish comes next, holding a purple rose. “Happy birthday Stiles. You make your father proud.”

He hugs me, and I hug back, smiling. I think I have a bit of a crush on him. His muscles are just…

I hear Scott chuckle, and I snap my head at Derek. He’s glaring at Parrish, again.

“I better go,” Parrish says and untangles himself. “I can feel Derek’s gaze from behind me. What’s the thing they always say? If looks can kill. I’m probably buried by now.”

I laugh, thanking him. He and Lydia left hand in hand.

Kira comes next, holding a white rose. “Thanks for everything Stiles. I’m always here for you, we all are, the same way that you are here for us. Happy birthday!”

She hugs me as well, and I kiss her hair. In my head, I say sorry for hurting her in another time and world.

Scott throws himself at me before anything else, really hard. “I love you so much, bro. All these years. I’m so glad you chose this life with me. I just, I love you.”

He’s crying. Yep.

“It’s alright Scotty,” I say. Hugging him back tightly. I remember my childhood friend, Scott, and the things the we never were because I pushed him away. I cry as well. “I love you too, bro.”

He pulls away, wiping his eyes. He hands me a yellow rose.

We smile at each other, then he looks at Derek. “Make him feel good. He deserves it.”

I punch him in the arm and he and Kira laughs. He puts his arm around Kira and they head for the door.

When everyone cleared up, Derek finished the song.

He comes closer to me, then pulls a red rose from his back pocket. He hands it to me.

I open my mouth to say something, but he stops me. He then starts singing “I’m Yours” by The Script.

 _You touch these tired eyes of mine_  
And map my face out line by line  
And somehow growing old feels fine  
I listen close for I'm not smart  
You wrap your thoughts in works of art  
And they're hanging on the walls of my heart  
  
I may not have the softest touch  
I may not say the words as such  
And though I may not look like much  
I'm yours  
And though my edges may be rough  
I never feel I'm quite enough  
It may not seem like very much  
But I'm yours  
  
You healed these scars over time  
Embraced my soul  
You loved my mind  
You're the only angel in my life  
The day news came my family died  
My knees went weak and you saw me cry  
Say I'm still the soldier in your eyes  
  
I may not have the softest touch  
I may not say the words as such  
And though I may not look like much  
I'm yours  
And though my edges may be rough  
I never feel I'm quite enough  
It may not seem like very much  
But I'm yours  
  
I may not have the softest touch  
I may not say the words as such  
I know I don't fit in that much  
But I'm yours

Our eyes never left each other throughout the song. Some memories even resurfaced, like the first time he and Stiles kissed after weeks of just fooling around. The time when Stiles pretended to be asleep as Derek traced every part of his face with his fingers, as if painting it in his memory. Stiles didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to face his feelings even though he was sure by then; he loves Derek with every fiber of his being.

“I think I have lost parts of myself when my family burned in the fire,” he starts. “And ever since then I’ve never felt the same. I was in the dark for as long as I can remember. I didn’t want to let anyone in because I was scared. Scared that eventually I will fuck things up, that I will lost them again once I started caring. But you came. And I didn’t like you very much, at first. You were everywhere, you forced your way in, and I can’t remember when, but at some point ever since I started feeling the beats of our hearts as our body were pressed closed against each other, I started healing. I started to feel. And I never thought I would be afraid again, but then I met you and my fear came back. My fear of losing someone I love dearly. But I want you to know, despite this fear, I’m more afraid of losing you and not being with you. I love you. I love you with every bit of the person that has left and become of me.”

I cried. I don’t know when I started crying. I want to tell him things, but those words weren’t for me. As much as I loved hearing them, no matter how fucking deep his words have reached my soul, they weren’t for me. But I want them to be. No one has ever needed me this way. Except maybe for…I don’t want to think about him.

So I grab Derek’s face, and kiss him, the way his Stiles would. I kiss him, hoping that in this way he’ll know that Stiles felt the same. That Stiles was as lost as he is ever since the Nogitsune, and everyday he’s afraid to lose someone he loves so much as well. And just like Derek, he’s willing to live with that fear, as long he’s with him.

And I wish…I wish what Lydia said a while ago was right, that Stiles forgot his birthday. Because he will be sad to spend it with no one else. I pity him, for not hearing the things his pack said to him. For not hearing Derek’s love and confession.

And that’s what in my mind, hours later, as Derek entered me gently and kissed me passionately as I grasped the sheets tightly in my fingers. That I’m a bad person for taking this away from him. So I let Derek make me forget. He didn’t fail.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Leave a kudos and if you feel like it, a comment. We finally got some answers. But I'm telling you, there's more to be revealed. 
> 
> I probably won't be updating soon because after our graduation ceremony I will be spending two weeks in a vacation with my family. I will try to write as much as I can in between. 
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
